Théodred and the Healer
by LetYourHeartFly
Summary: Théodred was struck by a mightly blow at the First Battle of the Fords of Isen. His body was never recovered and all assumed it was washed away by the swift waters of the river. Leòwyn, a healer of no renown, was chosen by the Valar. Both have great destinies to fulfil, and they might just find strength in eachother. ThéodredxOC. Younger Théodred (a few years older than Eòmer).
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_'I ambar na- changed; im tur- feel ha in i nen, im tur- feel ha in i coe, im tur- smell ha in i gwilith.'_

* * *

Leòwyn knew the world was changing. She knew the same way the seasons changed, or a storm was brewing. She knew it in her very bones and in the center of her being. The air moved more swiftly across the plains and whistled in between the mountain passes. It was now tainted with a metal scent that reminded her starkly of the iron in freshly spilt blood. The trees beneath the steady eyes of the White Mountains creaked and groaned in increasing tempo, as if they too could sense the changing tides of Middle Earth. Walking among the trees she had frolicked in as a child was not as comforting a thought as it used to be.

She began her morning by venturing farther from the little creek and quiet meadow of her home as the sun sluggishly rose over the mountains. Her hollow-home was nestled beneath an ancient behemoth she had aptly named Oaken Grandfather as a young child. Her great protector stood on the far side of a small clearing ringed with old trees as if standing guard over her. Her mother had raised her there. As the only child the Valar would ever gift her mother, she had been given all her heart had desired.

Leòwyn smiled slightly in memory. _I'm being slightly nostalgic this morning_, she thought to herself as her booted feet kept her on the path few dared to travel these days, even in the light of day.

Today she had exchanged a flowing dress for men's trousers, a tunic, and boots. All were in the color of the world around her. She knew better than most how to blend into scenery. On her waist was strapped a thick hunting knife, and over her shoulder she carried a full satchel. Her cloak swirled around her shoulders.

For Leòwyn, her hearts desires had always been deeply connected to the rock beneath her feet, the water that flowed through streambeds and creeks to the River Isen, and the most especially – the trees. Leòwyn could scarely count the days she had spent in the trees surrounding her childhood home. They were too many. Her formative years had filled with hours of being perched on one sinewy branch or another.

_Mother used to call me a little bird_, she snorted, smile turning melancholy. The jagged ache in her chest, for her mother's presence, intensified.

Her mother had been a rare beauty with full, laughing lips and even features as soft as a birds wing. She had also had the light inherent in all of Elvish descent. A light that had shined outward whenever Lilithien had gazed upon her only daughter. Leowyn had inherited her dark chocolate hair seemingly almost black in some lights, her elegantly arched eyebrows, and beneath them almond eyes of such clear blue they seemed to be made of chips of ice off the Great Misty Mountains themselves.

_Such striking features is where the similarities ended_, Leòwyn sighed.

Her own skin was a much richer shade than her Elvish mothers' porcelain and the graceful way her mother had moved, as if flowing from one movement to the next had always evaded her daughter. Leòwyn instead had her mortal fathers stubborn jaw, and her ears, while pointed, were not nearly enough to notice unless one looked close.

Leòwyn sighed heavily again. Her thoughts always turned dark when she thought of the one person who had always been there and now was not. She shook her head vigorously, _No. I will not dwell on such things. _

Picking up her head from where it had fallen in her dark thoughts, her sharp eyes surveyed the path and realized she was a lot farther into her journey than she imagined.

_Must not have been aware. Leòwyn, you fool. Now is no time to be star gazing,_ she shook her head at herself, tempered amusement flowing through her.

While it was true that times were changing, and many places in the world were no longer safe, Leòwyn trusted in her instincts as a hunter to be prepared for most instances in the woods she had grown in.

Now focused back on her task, her stride quickened towards the Fords of Isen. With the snow on the lower hills of the White Mountains beginning to melt, small signs of spring preparing to once more take back the Kingdom of Rohan were blossoming throughout the forest. The eve of spring however, did not stop the cold from stealing its way into her cloak, even lined with a layer of ermine pelts as it was. Leòwyn shivered, pulling up the hood of her midnight blue cloak to give her nose some protection against the ravages of the winds. She had completed this cloak for herself before the first snow struck the mountains many fortnights ago and had never been so grateful for it as now.

The Fords would be nearing to bursting with all the snow melt and would make it much easier for her to perform her task. As she thought of this her mind turned towards the task she had set out to complete this morning. Her small meadow, while boasting a stream, moved too slowly to be adequate for the purification of her instruments. Swift moving water was ideal for the processes Leòwyn perfected many years ago as a young Healer under her mother's tutelage.

Leòwyn placed a small hand on the worn leather satchel she carried at her hip. In it were her most precious items. Healing instruments the likes of which had never been seen outside of Elvish hands. They were a small token of her mother's memory.

Beginning from an early age, Leòwyn had shown an aptitude for the healing arts. Even as human as her blood, she was as sensitive as any Elf to the sturrlges of the wounded. Her mother had been a well-known healer, and if rumor be truth, her uncle had become one of the most adept Elvish healers in Middle Earth around the First Age. Leòwyn brooded on that fact. She had never met her mother's family, for they had not understood nor accepted Lilithien's love for a mortal man_. _

_Elves_, she decided, _could be just as prejudice as men._ When Lilithien had slipped away in the darkness of the night from her bedchambers it was to meet up with her mortal love. She had never returned.

As Leòwyn grew closer to her destination, an uneasiness began to spread outward from her chest. She took notice of the lack of noise. For a small second her feet stopped as she strained her enhanced senses outward. She could sense nothing, even the thinned-out trees had stopped rustling in the winter wind and the small animals had stolen away.

With a quick thought, Leòwyn jumped onto the lowest hanging branch of a western white pine and faded into the darkness of the canopy, almost as if she belonged there. Her forest was a forest of pines and therefore did not lose their needles during the winter. Throughout the years, as a child and then as a woman the trees had come to accept Leòwyn within their branches. She would sing to them of times long past and they had come to love her for it.

The tree, which the dark-haired beauty now sat, rustled slightly and slid more pine covered branches to block Leòwyn from view. With a sweet thought, she touched the trunk of the tree and silently thanked it. Leòwyn felt, on the outer reaches of her mind, that something was coming. From the bitter smell of the wind it would not be a friendly something. She loosened the hunting knife at her belt and settled on her haunches to wait. Before long her legs started twitching, her muscles feeling as if on fire as her anticipation grew.

Suddenly there was a loud crash in the direction she had been walking towards. The woman in the tree tensed and had to stop herself from jumping in fright. Another crunch came, this time from the path she had just strode from. Leòwyn froze, scarcely daring to breathe. There were loud sounds of big bodies clamoring around her. She could think of no other reason for such organized chaotic noise.

Something or possibly multiple things were hunting her. And now she realized they had already surrounded her. Leòwyn prayed to the Valar that her hunters had not seen her ascend into this tree. For she could barely get her fingers to unclench from around her dagger much less think of moving the rest of her body.

The elf-maiden had never been hunted before, and she now found she did not enjoy it.

As she held her breath, a massive, dark skinned figure stepped out of the trees to her left and began to shuffle down the small path she had walked countless times before. As it drew closer, Leòwyn had to suppress a gasp of shock. The creature hunting her, she now realized, was out of legend. Orcs had not been seen in this part of the world for an Age and she had never expected to see one in her lifetime.

_The world is changed, more than I ever imagined,_ she thought.

The creature was covered, head to toe, in what looked like a mixture of black and red blood. Underneath was possibly clothing but was indistinguishable from the coloring that dripped off its body and the unsheathed, ragged blade in its hand. It rubbed at its eyes with a filthy claw, to stop the stick combination from obstructing its eyesight, but it only seemed to make the problem worse as the smear on its face got larger.

A guttural snarl left its lips, as it spoke for the first time, "Auzeg, get you slimy guts out here and find the witch."

Leòwyn's horror grew. It spoke the common tongue. While the movement looked unnatural around its grotesque teeth, the words uttered were clear.

Another orc stepped out of the shadows of the pines and sniffed the air. This one's face looked like it had been smashed in by a cleaver. Its crooked nose looked painful to breathe out of and rows of sharp teeth flashed as it spoke.

"The she-human scent is gone from this place. I can smell her all along the road but here it stops."

Leòwyn wondered at that. Was even the wind on her side?

"Then she has not gone far. Find her! Lord does not want our surprise ruined for the horselords," the first, and largest creature roared.

Leòwyn resisted the urge to cover her ears at the sound. She knew it was only a matter of time before they found her. She could not move without alerting them to her presence in this tree, but she could not stay here. Her mind whirled. Horselords must mean the Rohirrim. But what surprise were they speaking of.

_Another time,_ she thought_. First,__ how many are there? _

An idea wormed its way into her mind, and out of it a plan developed. She did not give it a very high success rate, because for it to work, these creatures would have to be very slow witted and possibly as sensory blind as a human. But it at least gave Leòwyn a chance.

Slowly, Leòwyn reached her hand into her trouser pocket and withdrew two large pebbles. Each movement she made seemed to her stuck in honey. She grimaced. The pebbles now residing in her palm had sentimental meaning for her since childhood. She was loathed to be parted with a part of her past but if the loss of them could save her life she could consider it a needed sacrifice.

As discreetly as she could, Leòwyn lobbed one of the pebbles in the direction she had come with an underhanded throw. Her elbow almost grazed one of the pine's branches but luck was on her side. She froze with her arm still suspended above her head, palm facing the sky, and so did the creatures below her.

The pebble ricochet off many branches on the way to the pine covered ground. With a screech, the two orcs in her view took off towards the sound as three more emerged from the surrounding brush in pursuit.

_Five then, _Leòwyn noted.

Waiting until she heard their retreat, she once again lobbed her second pebble in the direction of her first throw but aimed to the left a small bit more. She felt more than saw the orc pack move in that direction once more.

She thanked the Valar that the history books did not lie. Orcs were told to be more slow witted than other malevolent creatures and tended not to look up. Moving swiftly down from her perch, with the arms of the tree moving quietly to allow her space, she placed her feet on her original path and turned towards her meadow. As she swung around, one eye still on the direction the orcs had gone, she heard a snarl that froze the blood in her veins.

_Six then_, her brain snarked as the orc directly in front of her raised its wickedly twisted blade above its head, intent on striking her down._ They truly are hideous creatures,_ Leowyn remarked as time seemed to slow.

With a choked gasp, Leòwyn's body moved before her brain could comprehend her fate. Her arm slammed forward, the impact sending waves of pain through her wrist. Before her, the orc stilled, and its arm halted its downward path.

Moments passed.

A painful gurgle broke through its already blood smeared, chapped lips before a dark, tainted liquid began to ooze over its large yellow teeth. It continued to slide down its chin and drip on the black, rusted breastplate it wore. As the creature in front of her struggled to breathe, it expelled a large breath. The putrid smell hit her nose and snapped her from her frozen state.

Leòwyn was finally able to unglue her eyes from its disfigured face to look down to where her arm was quickly becoming slick with the same inky black substance. Her prized hunting knife, the handle made from the femur of her first buck, was embedded in its abdomen. She had managed to find the gap between armored plates and slip her only weapon in between them to strike the beast who meant to kill her instead.

Panic bloomed in her mind. The dark liquid, hot as it slipped down her forearm, burned her skin though if she were to look there would be no mark. She jerked her arm back towards her body and with a sickening squelch her knife slid out of the creature's body. Her wrist jarred once more as the blade gratted on an upper rib.

Leòwyn had to prevent herself from becoming sick when the smell of the creatures blood hit her nose. The smell was not something Leòwyn could compare to anything else. It was a rotten, sickly sweet smell, as if the creature was decaying from the inside out. After pushing away her nausea at the smell Leòwyn realized, with a pang, that she had never killed another being, other than for survival. But this could be seen as a matter of life and death.

The orc, in its death throes, crashed to the ground as if it were an ancient oak tree returning to its place of birth. Its armor giving off a huge bang as the large body slumped boneless at her feet. The woman stood stunned for a moment before the sounds of the returning orcs behind her sent her running faster than she had ever run before.

_Does this make me a murderer?_ she asked herself and was even more unsettled when she could not determine the answer.

Somewhere in her mind, Leòwyn knew she was running the wrong way. She had wished to return to her meadow and the protections her mother had put in place over it. But her panicked feet and jumbled thoughts had stolen her in the wrong direction. She could not very well stop her flight now.

The hair on the back of her neck raised as a roar from behing her scattered the remaining hiding birds in the tree tops. She could hear the screams of rage as the orcs found their felled member and gave chase. They would catch her trail swiftly and she was not certain she was fast enough to outrun five enraged orcs who had the scent of woman-flesh in their nostrils.

So Leòwyn put her head down and ran. She lost track of the leagues her feet carried her. The trees continued to thin out on both sides of the small deer path and she instinctually knew the Fords of Isen were close, so she pushed her legs faster. If she could cross the Fords, the orcs would have a hard time catching her. She was a notoriously capable swimmer.

Up ahead Leòwyn could just make out the entrance to the flood basin on the west side of the river. She pressed forward, lungs screaming at her to stop, but her mind unable to do so.

As if someone had stolen the wind from within her lungs, she burst across the edge of the thinned forest and stumbled at the sight before her. Leòwyn almost wished to return the way she had come and face the five orcs still pursuing her. She had pulled so far ahead of their bulky forms and shorter legs that she was sure she could have lost them and circled around home. But something had drawn her forward, the feeling simliar to the weight she had felt in her chest before the appearance of the Orcs. As if she had not choice in the matter, her legs are continued to carry her towards the Fords. Towards this.

The scene before her would have fit perfectly in a tale of the battles of old. Men, horses, and orcs clashed in a cacophony of screams, steel on steel, and the sound of flesh hitting the earth. The battle was thick, and tt almost seemed to be one entity, shrieking and whirling, pushing and pulling, all at the same moment.

If her legs had been able to support her winded body, she might have chosen to take flight again. It was a better option than to kneel and watch the agony of death consume the bodies below, one by one.

Leòwyn stared for a moment longer, allowing her traumatized mind to return to the present. Her eyes had distinguished the lines of battle. There was a line of men, which wavered but seemed too stubborn to fail, and a line of creatures that pushed relentlessly across the Fords. By now, most of the men had been unhorsed, with the remaining, fierce looking chargers still guarding the backs of their masters on the ground.

Reaching up to cover her mouth in horror, she was startled to find wetness dampening her cheeks. She found she could not stop the flow of tears, unbidden as they were so Leòwyn wept as she watched men and horse fall.

The tide of the battle was turning with the monsters, with their massive bodies, and powerful arms, slowly taking ground. They fought uncontrolled, with a rage that gave them strength but took away their skin with knife work. They hacked wildly, many falling under Men's swords, before they could dodge but another was always ready to take the fallens place.

The Horselords of the North were not so easily frightened, however. For each man that fell, he took a baker's dozen of his enemy with him. Still, Leòwyn could see that it would not be enough. Even her untrained eye could see the doom that was to be the outcome of this battle.

Wiping her eyes with her dirty cloak, Leòwyn decided that being out in the open, so close to a battle and so unprepared for one was not her most intelligent moment.

Quickly scanning her surroundings, she decided to take a few steps backwards, once again into the trees, where she found a small but sturdy oak that agreed to bear her weight. She wondered what had happened to the orcs that had been hunting her when suddenly they burst from the tree line much as she had done moments before. Unlike her however, the orcs did not stop. Instead they seemed to forget all about their woman prey and plunged headlong into the battle below. She lost sight of them in the chaos quite quickly and she was thankful. Leòwyn had never sent a prayer to the Valar for the death of any creature but she did now.

The men were faltering, their line buckling in the center. As the Men gave ground, one painful step at a time, the ground beneath them turned black and slick with the blood split. Leòwyn was shaking as her enhanced eyesight left her privy to the fear in the Men's eyes as they were cut down, and their masks of pain at each new wound. 

Suddenly a crisp, clear note rang out from the opposite side of the Fords that Leòwyn currently sat.

For a moment, the battle below ceased as each side tried to determine the new threat. A line of horses began to crest the small hill and she was able to clearly see the tall Horsetail helmets and broad shields of a new company of Rohirrim.

With a choked laugh, tears of relief rolled unstopped from her recently dry eyes. There was hope yet. She did not know when she had gotten so invested in this battle but she assured herself it was natural. If orc should win, they would sweep across the land and pillage the people she shared blood and a name with.

With the appearance of these new warriors, she was struck with how useless she was. Leòwyn was as unprepared for battle as a newborn but watching one the dge of one was almost more unbearable. She did not belong there but she could not leave.

That did not mean she did not wish too. Leòwyn knew that she should leave but being able to do anything about it was another matter entirely. The indecision was striking a hard contest in her mind. Something was still holding her here, making it impossible for her to move.

The sensation was like a weight on her chest, the feeling that had not left her since the emergence of orcs into her life. It was freezing her body from movement. But her mind was fighting it, very unwilling to stay in such danger. Leòwyn clenched her teeth as she fought an inner battle.

"Whatever is drawing me here must be important," Leòwyn whispered to herself, "I am as safe as I can be in this tree, I will stay a moment longer."

She frequently talked out loud to herself when making decisions. She figured it was something that happened to those who spent life alone. Nodding her head, Leòwyn settled back against the trunk of her young tree friend and turned her focus again to the Fords.

* * *

_I ambar na- changed; im tur- feel ha in i nen, im tur- feel ha in i coe, im tur- smell ha in i gwilith._ The world is changed; I can feel it in the water, I can feel it in the earth, I can smell it in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Dusk was beginning to make its way across the sky. The battle below had ebbed and flowed throughout the day and Leòwyn had sat, transfixed by all the pain and anguish she witnessed. She had long run out of tears and could only gaze in infinite sadness as the sounds of death washed over her each time the wind shifted. Each moment she believed it would be her last. She felt as if her heart would break and allow her a painless passing._ It would be kinder than this,_ Leòwyn sobbed.

She could not stop herself from sending a flowing dialogue of prayers to the heavens, and a small piece of her began to rage against the Valar. It built within her gut as if she had eaten a bad meal. It writhed and seethed in her as a boiling pot of water. _How could they suffer this insurmountable hate to thrive? How can they allow such abject torment? Do they care for the lives of men? Do they care for my life?_

A dark and angry horn sounded in the near darkness. Leòwyn was broken from her circling thoughts and sat up quickly, cracking the bones in her back. Sitting in one position for hours watching this battle had not only left her mind in tatters but her body was also awake with agony. As she watched, the massive shadowy hoard of orcs began to retreat across the Fords and back towards Isengard. Leòwyn narrowed her eyes. The White Wizard was supposedly the keeper of the Gap of Rohan. Had he fallen to the evil creatures as well? That was a terrifying thought and with a shiver Leòwyn placed that in the back of her mind and abjectly told herself to forget it. No wizard could be outsmarted by a pack of orcs, even one as massive as the horde seen here.

As her eyesight adjusted to the darkened landscape, she noticed the Horselords were not leaving. As the orcs retreated, the Rohirrim advanced, into ground they had surrendered not hours before. Even to her untrained eye, they seemed to be looking for something. She watched them in wariness as they searched and searched before a cry went up and they began to retreat back the way they had come as well. Leòwyn finally felt secure enough to move from her perch. As she prepared to descend, planning on making her escape before the orcs came back, Leòwyn felt a spike of pain bloom in her chest just under her sternum. Gasping for breath, she ungracefully fell out of the young oak she was in and landed with a bounce on the hard, cold ground.

As the pain receded, Leòwyn groped at her chest for any outward reason for the astonishing pain. Her eyes were still watering as she yanked up her tunic to find soft clear skin. She pawed at herself until she was convinced there was no wound. Finding no outward signs of trauma, as she knew somehow she wouldn't, a frown bloomed on her face. She had felt that pain come from deep within her and burn its way across her abdomen. It had almost felt like a brand of fire tracing its way from one side of her body to the next. But why had it happened?

Slowly getting to her feet and keeping a close eye on her essence, she waited for the pain to strike again. After a few moments of standing in the dark, under the shadows of the trees, Leòwyn once again turned towards home. Like a bolt of lightning the searing pain below her heart was back and she crumpled like a fall leaf under a giant's boot. Tears once again began to stream down her face and the pain intensified before ebbing like the flow of a river. This time however the pain did not completely vanish. Instead it hovered just under the surface of her skin, like an uncomfortable ache. It served as a reminder of the intense episode that had just stolen her ability to do anything besides curl into a ball and wish for death.

Leòwyn didn't know how long she stayed on the cold ground, pressing her forehead into the dirt. The cold ground almost felt like a balm for her inflamed body but she began to feel the stiffening of her bones and she had no wish to die of the cold. As she gathered the courage to uncurl her body from its fetal position, she tested her lungs with a deep breath. It hurt but not anywhere near the amount it had previously.

Leòwyn sighed, "So you don't want me to go home." She looked up to the heavens and pointed. "Is this for my impure thoughts about you?"

Leòwyn stayed staring at the stars and cursed. Her pain reminded her of the battle and the pain she had watched and felt for uncountable hours. The sky was too beautiful tonight to witness the destruction that lay not far from her prone body. This day had turned into a night terror she was unsure she could wake herself from. As a child, she had always been easy to scare and so had experienced night terrors such as this one. Where she had no control over the course of the threat as if she were a little man on strings.

She once again climbed to her aching feet. Her entire body protested this movement but Leòwyn knew she had to find whatever brought her here or she would be plagued with this unbearable pain until she did. She did not question how she knew this.

Focusing her thoughts inward, she searched for the weighted pressure she had felt on her chest just this morning. She searched for the attachment it had to something in the Fords. She knew she would have to venture down to the battle site.

She turned her thoughts away from that image. She would see it soon enough; she did not need her overactive imagination showing her anything more. The Fords was where she felt the weighted feeling pulling her towards. She hoped it wasn't an orc with a very precious jewel or any other monstrosity that the Valar deemed necessary to put her in contact with. Her wavering trust in the benevolence of the Valar was something she would have to contemplate at a later time. Anything else she thought she could handle.

Leòwyn forced her abused legs into a semblance of a walk, her left leg limping more than her right for it throbbed painfully after her unplanned fall from the tree. Leòwyn halted just before the carnage, her elvish eyes seeing everything as if it were under the light of day.

The smell alone made her freeze. Her mind could not come up with words to describe the acidic flavor of the air. She objectively knew that it was a combination of body odor, blood, tears, fluids released upon death, and internal fluids that should never seen light. Not just mans but also orcs and horses. Leòwyn spun around and retched all the contents of her body onto the trampled ground. Her body had begun to shake with tremors.

Taking small breaths through her mouth, to limit the amount she could smell, Leòwyn turned around and clenched her fists. She didn't know what was worse, smelling this riverbed turned hallowed ground or tasting it.

In the end she decided that smelling was worse and continued to breathe through her mouth. Tears still leaking from her eyes like a steady stream, she put one foot in front of the other and began to pick her way between the broken bodies and discarded weapons. _I believed I had run out of salt and water_, Leòwyn remarked to herself, _how very wrong._

As she continued further into the Fords and closer to the river, the pulling in her chest became lighter. Leowyn took that as a sign that she was moving in the direction the Valar wanted and towards their goal. She continued her unhurried steps. Any ungraceful move now could risk her impaling herself on a sharp weapon thrown down by a defeated warrior or dying orc.

_Focus,_ she cursed herself and stopped to gather her courage to continue.

Abruptly the weight feeling slithered across her chest, almost as if it were alive, and coiled itself as a band around her left wrist, squeezing her wrist painfully. The feeling of having something crawling under her skin left Leòwyn feeling nauseous again. She now also had to deal with the rapid pain of losing feeling in her hand. She had never had a weak stomach before, but she had also never experienced horror such as this in her short life. A slight involuntary jerk of her arm, by the weighted cuff now circling her wrist, had Leòwyn changing her direction and heading for the riverbank closest to where the orcish line had begun to advance.

A low hiss escaped her lips as the cuff loosened just enough for the stabbing pain to abate. Stepping lightly over the bodies of the dead, she averted her eyes from the faces. With their unseeing eyes and expressions frozen in abject pain, Leòwyn could not honor their sacrifice and therefore did not deserve to witness their torment.

As Leòwyn continued her march, the band began to constrict less and less until she could finally feel her fingertips again. It was a welcome sensation.

"Evil spawn bracelet" Leòwyn hissed.

The cuff did not react and she continued walking. Suddenly, as if it had not existed at all the cuff of pressure was released from her body and the last ebbing's of pain in her chest vanished. But Leòwyn hardly noticed naught of this.

She could not take her eyes off the figure strewn across the bank of the river Isen. It was of a man, covered in a filthy green cloak, wild hair covering a good portion of his face. He was large enough to be mistaken for an orc had Leòwyn not had her gifted eyesight. Laying on his back, with arms spread to his sides, the mans eyes were closed and she couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. She knew it in her bones and in the very center of her that this man was who the Valar had sent her to retrieve. But for once in her life, Leòwyn was lost. She stood staring at the body of the man for what seemed like years.

Leòwyn did the only thing that seemed natural and began to approach the large body lying boneless on the riverbank with his lower legs being slapped by the blood colored water of the river. As she reached his side, she slowly knelt and hovered her hands above his chest, unsure of what to do. She stared at his face.

It appeared as if he were only asleep, his face slack in the way only true sleep could make it. Reaching a hand towards him, she gently lifted the hair from off his face and placed the back of her hand under his nose. "Please be alive," she whispered.

She felt a breath!

As if broken from a spell, Leòwyn sprang into action, removing him of his laden cloak and pieces of broken armor. He wouldn't need it anyway. The healer in her was busy surveying him for wounds and running through reasons why he wouldn't be awake. And then she saw it.

Removing his shattered breastplate had revealed a gaping wound, cut from left breast to right breast right across his sternum. Peering into it she could almost see clear to the bone and she gasped.

Leòwyn now knew why she had felt that searing pain earlier. That was a reflection of the wound this man endured while fighting in this pitched battle. Looking around momentarily, Leòwyn realized that this was the center of the battlefield. The man under her hands must have been a leader of the Horselords. This man was somehow important enough for the Valar to want him alive. Leòwyn steeled herself and continued her assessment. Once again looking down at her new patient, she let out a breathless giggle. This was her first real patient without her mother by her side.

_Human patient_, her mind corrected. Since the passing of her mother she had secluded herself much more than they had been together. With no interaction with others there had been no opportunity to heal.

Reaching over her hip, she brought her satchel full of medical supplies and rolled it open on the ground next to her. Carefully she began to clean the wound.

It was deep, _and painful_ she thought reflecting back to her own agony over this wound, but it was only fatal if not addressed by a healer with enough experience to sew a multi-layer wound closed. The Valar seemed to expect quite a lot from her.

She could heal him but not here. Realizing that this wound would need to be treated back at her home was a daunting thought but trying to sew a wound as big as this needed adequate lighting and steril instruments. None of which she had on hand in the middle of a bloody battlefield.

He was a big man, and she was smaller than your average mortal female with narrow wrists and strong but slight bone structure. An idea began to form its way into her mind, and she smiled. Her mother had shown her how to do this once and she wasn't sure if she remembered the notes correctly, but it was her only chance. Carefully remembering the correct sounds, Leòwyn let out a long, echoing whistle that pierced through the still night. Once more, she let a note ring out until she had no more breath to give and then sat back.

Leòwyn began to wrap long strips of bandage around the wound in her patient abdomen so that he would survive the trip. They had to be tight enough to keep the wound closed and minimize bleeding but loose enough that she didn't constrict his heart or cause tissue damage. Her meadow was half a days walk away from the Fords but they certainly wouldn't be walking if she could help it.

So caught up in her task was she that she hardly noticed the shimmering white form of a horse materialize next to her. The _Mearas_ were renowned for their ability to come and go without notice. They were also the symbol of strength in Rohan. She thought it only fitting that this man, who the Valar has gone through such pains to save, be bore on the back of a legend to his own people.

The horse stood next to her and whickered softly, huffing at her hair. Leòwyn smiled. Shadowfax has been one of her mothers' great companions. He came and went as he pleased like all free beings and as a child, he used to let her ride on his back when her mother wasn't watching. Looking up into the _Mearas_ big, intelligent eyes she whispered her plea, "I need to get this man back to my home. He is dire need of a healer, but I cannot save him here. Will you allow us passage on your back, my dear friend?"

The powerful stallion looked back at her for one long moment before gracefully dropping to his front knees and then fully laying down as too allow easier access to his back. Leòwyn huffed and smiled in gratitude.

_Now to get this bear of a man on Shadowfax's back without further injury_, she sighed.

She was already weak from the trials of the day but like all the gifts given from her mother's Elvish blood, she was stronger than the average woman as well. Heaving him onto the back of a large horse, even one which is laying down, was no small feat. By the time her patient was secure and ready for transport, the _Mearas_ standing not far from her and carefully balancing the injured man on his back, Leòwyn was panting and the edges of her eyes were fading into darkness.

She took a few very deep breaths and eyes closed, focusing not on the putrid smell surrounding her but on the feeling of her body. Her body has reached it's limit and yet she found that she still had the strength to stand. If she had the strength to stand she surmised then she had the strength to walk. Opening her eyes, like peeling back the layers of an onions, Leòwyn smiled faintly at Shadowfax and with an aching walk, began her journey home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

As she paced next to the shimmering form of Shadowfax, her one hand couldn't be stopped as it rested against the side of her patient. The urge to feel the heat of his body, to remind herself he was still alive was pulsing in her blood.

Leòwyn had never had such an unbridled protectiveness towards another being but as of this night she could feel it surge in her veins. _This is what Mother must have felt as she watched over me_, Leòwyn thought. That thought was comforting, for she knew as sure as her heartbeat in her chest that she would not allow further harm to come to this man while she still drew breath.

She frowned. The natural urge she had to see him unharmed was in its own way unnatural. For she knew that she was not the one who placed it in her. The same way she had known how to find this Horselord, she knew that this was the will of the Valar. Her Elvish heritage sang with the knowledge that the Heavens deemed her worthy enough to be chosen. Even if she did not have a full understanding of the task set before her feet. She still hid a small pocket of gratefulness inside her for the honor.

Her sluggish mind slowly focused back on her current surroundings and almost groaned aloud. The pace she was able to move was hardly more than a crawl, and with the night quickly hastening towards morn she feared they would be once again risk being caught by beasts of evil spawning. Through willpower alone she forced her mind to contemplate a solution.

Eying the large, graceful horse next to her she realized she would never be able to stay on his back without being very close to the man already slumped there. This man was already a cumbersome burden.

Leòwyn snorted slightly, "The man took all my strength to move but a few feet." This man was just too large. Turning to face him, her hand still resting on his side, she assessed his condition. Her findings did not please her.

Leòwyn sighed. This man was going to die if she did not stop the still sluggish bleeding seeping through the bandages, she had wrapped around his chest wound while still on the battlefield. Her meadow was still many leagues away. Looking at Shadowfax, she cocked her head and then forced her leaden legs to bring her level with his eyes. This forced her to drop her hand from where it had been resting on her patient's thigh and she immediately felt the loss. Like a silent pang in her chest. She clenched her teeth and ignored it. Whatever this strange attraction, she would never allow it to dictate her actions. She was too wild for even a small amount of her freedom to be stolen from her.

Shadowfax turned his large head to look at her with one benevolent eye. "Can I add an extra burden on you, dear friend? We must move faster, or he will perish." Leòwyn's voice escaped her mouth in a croak. She was too spent to care.

With a soft whiney and nod, Shadowfax planted his feet to allow a solid perch for Leòwyn to push up onto. She muscled her way up onto the _Mearas_ backside, her strained muscles screaming with her every movement. Finally, she was perched, quite uncomfortably up on the horses back. She was a few inches apart from the stranger who lay boneless in front of her against the neck of the great animal below them and couldn't seem to force her body to move closer.

Shadowfax began to move once more. Gritting her teeth Leòwyn went about making herself and her patient comfortable. His sheer size overwhelmed her. Leòwyn wondered when she would stop marveling at this fact, but it was still enough to shock her. His hunched body was directly in front of her, so she slid forward until her thighs were pressed against the outside of his. She could feel the hard muscle of legs even through their clothing. She fought to keep down a blush.

She had never been this close to a man; much less having touched one. _Thank the Valar he is alseep._

To steady them both on the smooth but softly swaying back of Shadowfax, Leòwyn snaked her arms around his sides. Her arms were just long enough to clasp the other hand around his midsection. She cursed. She hadn't noticed it earlier, being way too focused on his injury but the stench coming off this man was reminiscent of the battlefield they had left behind. Swallowing her bile, Leòwyn turned her head sideways and allowed herself the option of using his wide back as a place to rest her head. The soft movement of Shadowfax's gate, and the failing strength of her body began to lull her into a floating mist like sleep.

She felt her body slowly start to unwind and go limp. Her arms were beginning to loosen from around the man's chest, and something hot and wet soaked onto her arm. Leòwyn's wind was floating. A small frown marred her slack face as her fogged sense tried to figure out what was quickly drying on her arm, before she again felt the warm liquid imprint on her arm.

She started in alarm as her mind made the connection with blood. She could smell fresh blood. Bring her left arm from around the man and towards her face, she shrieked as she saw bright blood reflected in the moonlight. He was bleeding anew.

"Make haste Shadowfax, we have no more time," Leowyn shouted before abruptly being forced to cling to the body in front of her in an effort to stay seated on the back of the surging warhorse.

She had never moved this fast in her life. The trees whipped by at a dizzying speed and Leòwyn closed her eyes against it. Coupled with her abused body feeling every pounding of Shadowfax's hooves, her bones began to ache in rhythm with her heart. She did not notice the tears of pain that leaked from the corner of her blood shot eyes. Keeping her eyes closed, Leòwyn tried to keep her nausea down. It wouldn't be good to be unbalanced when they reached the meadow and her Oaken Grandfather. She would need her wits to save this Mans life.

Moments passed, and just when Leòwyn began to despair that she would not be able to uphold the task she had been given by the Valar, Shadowfax slowed abruptly. Both man and woman smacked uncomfortable against the sturdy neck of the _Mearas_.

Leòwyn cracked open her eyes, crusted over with wind dried tears. Peaking around the large shoulder she was grasping, Leòwyn almost began crying again, this time in relief. Her meadow looked the same as when she had left it. The sound of the soft bubbling stream that ran through the center of this oasis soothed her damaged mind. Leòwyn could feel the tension from the past day begin to uncoil in her chest. The last day had felt longer than the entire passing of seasons before it and she was flushed with a sense of final safety as Oaken Grandfather came into view.

As Shadowfax paced closer to her underground home Leòwyn began to plot how she would get her patient down the few steps there were past her the entrance to her home and into the common area where she could lay him in front of the fire and finally properly assess his state.

The _Mearas_ halted with just enough room for her to slide off his back and turn to swing open the oak door that served as a guard against cold nights and unwelcome guests. Leòwyn landed with a jarring thud, and just managed to catch herself from collapsing to her knees. Her legs wobbled slightly before she grimaced and straightened. Taking the two steps to the door, Leòwyn felt a deep pang in her chest, one she had felt when she had removed her hand from the man's thigh once before.

With a weak snarl, she suppressed the feeling. Pushing slightly, the door swung on well-oiled hinges and Leòwyn rushed inside, movements frantic, to rekindle a fire strong enough to replenish the heat in her home. The beating of her heart was as if a small bird had climbed beneath her breast and was fighting to escape.

Leòwyn had been gone longer that she had ever been before but need not have worried, for buried under the ashes were still a few fire coals. They would be adequate enough to spark a flame on the wood she began arranging in the fireplace. Her mother had once been asked how she came to dwell under a living tree but could have a fire burning brightly in a small fireplace. Lilithien had smiled, small perfectly white teeth flashing, and explained that she had lived there for many ages. The years had allowed the Oaken Grandfather to grow around her needs.

The fire did not harm the living tree about them and to give thanks her mother had sang Elvin songs of healing every night to keep aid the growth of the large oak. Slowly awareness of the world came with those songs. Leòwyn knew the ancient wisdom that was harbored in the tree surrounding her and she sent a silent prayer to Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees of Valinor, who were now the Sun and the Moon that still stood watch over the trees of Middle Earth.

Once the fire had begun to catch and sparked brightly in her stone ringed fireplace, Leòwyn retreated to another alcove for bedding. She chose her oldest sheets and pelts that she would not mind burning after the event about to happen. With the bedding arranged to her likening in front of the crackling fire, Leòwyn straightened and took a deep breath.

She turned towards the entrance of her home and once more stepped into the meadow to relieve Shadowfax of his burden. The majestic horse still stood where she had left him, easily balancing the weight of the warrior on his back while also lazily chewing the fresh grass beginning to peak out from the frost covered ground. Spring had begun even in her meadow it seemed. If Leòwyn had allowed herself to think of anything but her impending task, she would have smiled and laughed. Spring was her favorite season and its renewal each year brought her a happiness she could compare to nothing else.

As she neared, the _Mearas _moved to gracefully drop to his knees before laying down all the while balancing a brute of man. Leòwyn caught the man's weight as he slid sideways off the great stallion and allowed her body to fall to the ground with his. It was easier to go with whichever way his dead weight wanted to slide.

Shadowfax seemed to flow like mist up into a standing position once more and stepping forward, softly brushed his nostrils against Leòwyn's dirty hair. They bumped heads and then the horse was turning and disappearing into the inky darkness of the forest once more. She had never been more grateful to the _Mearas _and to her mother as she was in this very instance. Looking down momentarily at the man in her arms, she huffed and wrapping her arms around his chest once more, being mindful of his still bleeding wound, she lifted his upper body until she was crouched over and able to drag his legs along the meadow floor.

Shuffling backwards, Leòwyn painfully drug her unconscious patient into the common space of her home and lowered his slowly onto the bedding she had arranged earlier. Panting, Leòwyn crawled on her knees to the side of the big man and waited for her breathing to even out. She would be no good to him if she fell senseless as well.

Once she felt the darkness at the edges of her vision recede and her heart begin a normal rhythm, Leòwyn stood once again to ready her supplies and instruments. Opening her satchel, she carefully laid out all her healing instruments side by side. Filling a caldron with water from the storage basin, she placed it over the fire to purify it.

For a few moments, while she waited for the water to finish boiling, she watched the man laying on her floor. She wished she knew his name. Calling him her patient or "man" was beginning to sit wrong with her, but she pushed that thought aside for now. She needed to focus on saving him first, then maybe when he awoke, he would inform her of his name. Until then, man would do.

Moving back to the caldron over the fire, she grasped it tightly with a mitt made of badger fur and slowly moved it to where she had set up her instruments. Slowly, Leòwyn poured half of the steaming liquid into a clean basin before placing the hot caldron back near the fire. She would need the extra water as the base for her mothers famous healing draught.

Quickly Leòwyn dropped all her instruments into the basin of scalding water and busied herself rolling all the bandages she would need and placing them within arms reach of the prone body on the floor. Looking back at him, she could tell his chest wound was still slowly bleeding and it worried her. She needed to get that bleeding to stop before she could sew his wound shut.

Climbing to her feet like a woman four times her age, Leòwyn shuffled her stiff bones to one of the cupboards that contained her medicinal herbs. She gathered them only in the high of spring, for that was when they were the most potent. Finding the leafy green plant, dried out from the sun Leòwyn had baked it under, she grabbed the entire jar and made her way back to where the water in the basin was beginning to cool off.

Leòwyn tested the water and found it it cool enough to touch without the risk of burning herself. She withdrew all her now cleansed instruments from it. Using a mortar, Leòwyn quickly crushed the dried herb called Athelas and dumped in into the still warm water. It would make a very strong brew that would stop the man's bleeding. As she dried off her instruments and began to soak two long strips of cloth in the herbal brew, Leòwyn once again could not keep her eyes from drifting to the prone body a few feet from her. She sighed. Whatever this strange attachment is, she hoped it would end when she saved his life. It was starting to grate on her nerves that her eyes were automatically drawn to his presence. He wasn't even awake.

She started with suddenly she heard a small moan echo in the silence. Maybe he was awake.

Surging up from her seat on the floor, she hurried to the man's side and without thought reached out to touch his arm. Her eyes connected with his half lidded iris' just as her hand made contact with his skin. The pain that ripped through her body sent her spasming to crash right next to him with a cut off scream. This pain was familiar, with the line of fire crossing her body, just under her breasts, and ending in her left armpit. She found she could breath even if her lungs felt filled with molten liquid. She coughed and felt something slick ooze down her lips. Leòwyn reached a shaking hand to her chin and her fingers came away bloody.

_Get away_ her mind screamed!

With a gasp she was able to push herself away from the man's body, trying to get as far away as possible so there was no chance of touching him again. Leòwyn half crawled, half dragged herself backwards. When she had backed her still inflamed body until her back rested against the inner wall of the great oak above them, she brought her eyes back to him. His eyes had slid shut once more and it seemed to her that his shallow breathing had gotten stronger. She could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest even in the dim lighting whereas before she had to concentrate to make out any movement. Comforted that he was no longer able to feel his pain, Leòwyn focused on hers.

Her entire body was suffering after shocks of the mysterious pain she had experienced three times since the Valar had chosen her. Her muscles trembled and spasmed without her say so. _This is the feeling of having no control,_ Leowyn sobbed, _this is my truest fear_.

Leòwyn sat, wallowing in her despair until she began to feel the pain shrink to a dull, throbbing ache once more. It was bearable now she thought.

"Why has this pain struck again?" She whispered to herself, finding her eyes on the man again. "It happened when I touched him. But I have touched him many times…he was awake this time."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. She only had a connection with him when he was aware, and she had clearly seen signs of improvement in his breathing and slowed bleeding, after her episode had cleared. Had she taken his pain and somehow transferred a portion of it onto herself? Had she taken part of his injury? And was this through a bond between them or was it a new ability the Valar had gifted her to heal the sick?

These thoughts swirled around her mind as she scooped out a cup of the strong athelas brew, still slightly warm, and drank it in slow sips. The athelas would help her mind sharpen for this task and ease some of the physical pain her body was in. Leòwyn realized she had not slept in over a day, as the sun began to peak through cracks in the outer bark of the Oaken Grandfather. She sighed heavily and after cleansing her hands in another basin, she rang out the cloths she had placed in the athelas brew. Shuffling towards the man, she hesitated and checked to make sure his eyes were still closed. She could ill afford another round of senseless pain as she was already at her wits end after the events of the past day.

Satisfied that his eyes had remained closed and his breathing even, she picked up her mother's specialty designed tool, two blades crossed together at the hilt with a joint that allowed easy movement up and down. Taking the scissors, Leòwyn carefully cut his blood-soaked bandages off the wound on his chest. They would need to be discarded off but that would wait. Once again Leowyn was met with the sight of a gaping sword wound. It had seemed the orc had been trying to cut this man in half and had nearly succeeded.

Leòwyn removed the bandages and placed them off to the side, replacing them with one of the athelas cloths. She would need to give it time to work.

To keep busy, she hastily cut off the remaining shreds of clothing he had been wearing. Keeping her eyes carefully averted from his manhood, Leòwyn couldn't prevent the blush that stole across her face. She quickly covered him with a deer pelt as soon as she had whisked away the bloody crusted rags that used to be fine fabric. Leòwyn knew, in the back of her mind, that she would have to cleanse his entire body of the fouls that blood could cause but she stubbornly refused to acknowledge that thought.

Turning back to his wound, she slowly peeled back the first athelas soaked cloth to see the bleeding had slowed to a very slow seep.

"One more shall dot it," Leòwyn muttered as she placed the second cloth over his wound.

Standing up, Leòwyn busied herself by adding more wood to the fire, preparing several clothes to be soaked in the athelas brew for removing the filth from his body, and threading her stitching needle with her finest goats gut thread which would dissolve naturally in his body once ready.

All of this had taken her the better part of a candles mark and looking out her small "window" which was more of a crack in the outer wall of the ancient oak, she could see the beginnings of the suns light rising in the east. Leòwyn sighed.

She had lost an entire night of sleep and she suspected that she would not find rest until well into the day. Turning back towards her patient, she knelt once more on the fur coated floor and peeled back the cloth covering his would, this time for good. Studying his chest, she was satisfied that it had stopped bleeding and was ready for stitching. Leòwyn had studied the art of stitching for years under her mother and she had helped hundreds of animals by stitching up a wound caused by mate battles or narrowly escaping a predator, but she had never sewn shut a sword wound on a human. That thought alone made her hands freeze.

"Come now, you silly girl," Leowyn hissed at herself, "You have seen more horrors in your life than this. He will die without you."

She knew it was true. The athelas had stopped the bleeding for now, but if she did not merge the two sides of his chest back to where they belonged, the bleeding would begin again. And soon. Taking a calming breath, Leòwyn ran her needle over the open flame of a candle. This would purge it of any ill humors and allow it to easily pass through flesh. Once satisfied that it was cleansed, Leòwyn moved the candle closer to her subject to give even more light than the fire to her right could. Taking a moment to study the way the muscle in his chest had been cleaved, she began to map her needles path in her mind. She would need to sew the right muscle layers together so that there would be no lasting weakness or restriction of movement once the wound healed completely.

With a nod, Leòwyn made her first stitch and from then it was as natural as breathing. So focused on her task, of sewing multiple layers of muscle and skin together that she hardly noticed as the candle next to her burned down with each passing hour. She only halted once, to change her position from one side of his body to another to get the proper angle needed.

As she made her last stitch and tied off the end of her thread, Leòwyn finally shifted from her hunched over position atop the man's body. Her back protested each movement and she groaned in pain as she leaned back to crack her bones. She had never been this sore in her young life, she was certain of it. Every muscle seemed taut as a bowstring and no matter how she moved, she could not get them to ease.

Looking back at the now closed wound on the man's chest, she couldn't help but feel a small burst of pride. She had done something she had never done before, on the first try, and she was willing to stake her life on those stitches. When this man was healed, he would have no issues with this wound. She had even sewn the skin together in a way that would leave him with a less noticeable scar. There would still be a large line across his chest, but with a wound as severe as this one the scar itself could pose a problem to movement. Leòwyn had made sure that would not happen.

All that was needed now was to paint, with a brush made of the finest horse hair, on a layer of herbs in honey she had collected in her very meadow. Honey was a wonderful healant, and it would also protect the wound from dirt and other things that floated in the air. After the honey mixture had been applied, Leòwyn carefully wrapped a few loops of bandages around his chest and made sure to tie them with a little slack so as not to prevent good breathing. Her arms ached as she smoothed out the last wrinkle in the bandage she had just applied and allowed herself to sit back on her haunches.

"Mother would be proud," Leowyn whispered to herself before a large yawn split its way across her face. She had many other tasks to complete but she found that she couldn't force herself to care about them. None of them were pressing anyway.

Finally, she allowed herself to sink to her buttocks in front of the dimed fire and lean sideways to rest her head on the linens that covered the floor next to the man she had just saved. A small smile graced her weary face before her eyes shut and her world faded to quiet, welcoming darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

Leòwyn awoke with a start that jerked her entire body from a resting position to on her feet before she registered anything around her.

Her breathing increased in tempo until she could hear her breath whooshing out of her parted lips. Shaking her head and wrapping her arms around her midsection, she shook the remaining cobwebs from her brain as she gathered her bearings. She was home. Safely inside Oaken Grandfather. She could hear the softly crackling fire as it consumed the last of the logs she had placed on it upon her return.

Looking down at the giant of a man at her feet, her eyes became glued to the large bandage wrappings around his torso, where a slightly amount of blood had soaked through. Logically she knew that that was a good sign. A healer would expect a lot more blood if something had gone wrong with the stitches or there would be other colored liquid if the wound wasn't healing properly. As she let her eyes roam up and down his body, they caught sight of the pile of rags covered in grime that she had stripped from her patient.

Quite quickly the horrors of late flooded her mind. She had witnessed a bloody battle, had felt the loss of life deep in her soul, had wept for the men who had given everything to prevent the spread of evil. Her mind brought forth an image of the faces of the orcs that had chased her through her beloved forest. She once again felt the slick blood on her hand, as she killed the orc who swung at her. Her eyes widened further as she looked down at her hands and could almost imagine she was seeing the black as pitch liquid slide off her fingertips. Her breathing began to sound harsh to her own ears.

Leòwyn gasped as she felt her ability to control her own body slip away from her. The uncontrolled shaking began. She did not even have the ability to slowly lower herself to the pelt covered floor before her body met the earth with a soft thud. At least the thick pelts covering the dirt softened her descent. Her muscles continued to twitch uncomfortably. Her crystal eyes took on the look of someone lost in a painful dream. A frown contorted her face.

Her healers mind knew what this was. Her mother had described the symptoms of Fea or spirit shock, but she had never witnessed it before, much less experienced it herself. Spirit shock was a condition a being of elvish blood could experience if their essence was tainted with too much sorrow, or too much horror. A famous case had been that of Celebrian, her aunt, and Lady of Rivendell before she had sailed to save her own light.

If Leòwyn had been able to shake her head in anger, she would have. When her Mother had told her the story of her aunt, she had felt sorrow but also disgust. Leòwyn considered it a weakness of character to succumb to a tragic event that had already passed. She had vowed, as a young child, never to allow any circumstance to control her life, while she had the mind to change it.

Leòwyn firmly commanded her eyes to close, cursing as they reacted slowly. Looking inside herself, she focused on where she could feel her heart fluttering and lungs spasming in concert. The first step was to always gain control of the patients breathing_. _Usually this was done with trying to get them to mimic the breathing of another. It gave them something to focus on.

_Whoever thought I would be the patient now_, Leowyn thought, with a mental eye roll. It seems her humor had not abandoned her.

From her fallen position on the floor, Leòwyn was facing the right side of the one who was technically her patient. Another mental eye roll had Leòwyn almost glad she had fallen to this side. It gave her abused left side a break, after her fall out of the young oak. It also gave her an unobstructed view of her patients calm, even breathing.

With all the stubbornness born in her blood, Leòwyn grabbed firm control of the muscles in her chest and willed them to match the sleeping mans in front of her eyes. As the spasms began to slow, a slight smirk raised her lips. She had never been one to back down from a task, or be overcome by a daunting endeavor.

Leòwyn allowed her body to slowly uncurl itself from its fetal position as her muscles faltered in their twitching and caused her to pool like water, boneless, on the floor. She rested there until the sun began to descend past the tree line outside. Leòwyn tried to collect her bearings. It was almost night once more, which means that she had slept most of the late morning and afternoon away. She mentally shrugged. Her body had taken hardship yesterday, much more than she had ever asked of it before. She deserved rest, and after she finished the chores she had planned to finish before her body had taken control, she would once again allow herself to sleep as long as she needed. After all, a healer needed strength to care for the sick. She knew she would need all her strength and wits to fight death off from her patient's soul.

With a sigh, Leòwyn raised herself up onto her knees, to then crawl to the fire. She had to keep it going, to keep the common room hot enough to help her patient burn off the fever that would surely come with his wound. She looked behind her shoulder and sent a prayer to the Valar. She prayed for this man to be strong enough to withstand the burning his body was soon going to be experiencing. She would help him as best as her ability as a healer gave her, but he would have to have enough strength to fight it off himself.

With a look into the kettle, still near the fire, Leòwyn smiled. There was enough water left to make her Mothers healing broth, without having to collect more from the stream outside. She didn't know how much more movement her body could accomplish today.

Taking a deep breath, Leòwyn pushed herself to her feet with a wobble. Her knees felt dangerously weak, almost like those of a fresh born baby deer as it stood for the first time. Holding onto the sides of the Oaken Grandfather, she made her way around the feet of the man laying prone, and to the cabinets for ingredients. Leòwyn had seen her Mothers brew bring back man and animal from the brink of death. She would attest to its ability to aid the injured and dying. Gathering the measurements she needed, she headed back to the fire, one hand still steadying herself on the walls.

"None of your clumsy accidents today Leowyn," she tsked at herself, her voice barely above a whisper. Leòwyn had always been prone to clumsiness, her Mothers elvish grace had been a source of great envy when she had realized she hadn't inherited it.

As she sank beside the fire once more and began to make her stew, Leòwyn found herself humming an old child's tale. It had been one of her favorites and her Mother had sung it to her often. A small, sorrow lined smile covered her lips.

Leòwyn never admitted it to herself, but she had been lonely since her mother had passed. Having the presence of another living being, even a direly injured, sleeping man was enough to slightly raise her spirits. Carefully stirring the pot, now bubbling as she moved it over the flames, Leòwyn looked over her shoulder and realized how terrible her patient looked. He was covered, from head to toe, in grime from the battle. He would need to be bathed, but she would have to do it where he lie. There was no way Leòwyn was going to try and move him again.

Allowing the caldron of the healing draught to boil for another moment, Leòwyn shuffled towards the man on her floor, and reached over him for the strips of clean cloth still laying on the floor from the morning. She then carefully moved the caldron of, now cold, Athelas brew and brought it to the fire. She would use the cloth to carefully cleanse his body and use the Athelas as a cleanser. Leowyn replaced the healing stew with the Athelas brew and waited for that to once again heat up as she set the first caldron off to the side of the fire. It would stay warm there and be ready for use when he awoke.

As the second caldron began to bubble, Leòwyn took its handle with her mitt and placed it next to the side of the man. She knew it was easier to get blood and other liquids off skin if the water used was hot instead of cold.

With a small groan, Leòwyn lowered herself to the floor on her knees next to the side of the man facing the fire. She carefully soaked a few of the cloths in the warm water, and now she grabbed one to wring out of access water. Each time she used a cloth until it was filthy, she would not place it back in the brew but off to the side to be cleansed before another use. She did not want to contaminate the brew before all the washing had been done.

Turning her ice blue eyes to her patient, she began to slowly scrub the debris off his arm, starting up at his shoulder, and wiping downward. She grimaced as her cloth quickly began black with the blood and dirt of countless victims to this man's blade. She shuddered to think of being in the middle of that pitched battle, facing off against monsters out of legend. Raising his quite heavy arm, she made sure to get the underside before moving on to his upper chest and neck.

As she cleaned, Leòwyn could not stop the frown that crawled its way across her face. As she removed the grime clinging to her patients' skin, she revealed more and more small cuts, scrapes or large, deep bruises. She began to worry that this man might not have it in him to heal all these small nuisances along with his life threating wound. Some cuts even looked deep enough to need stitches.

Her frown grew only deeper as she moved to roll him onto his side, her arms shaking with the effort of heaving his muscular body sideways before stacking rolled pelts beneath him, so it was not on her to keep him turned. She gasped audibly at the large bruise that had formed to cover more than half of his broad back. He must have been hit with something massive to have caused this. When he woke up she knew that would not be comfortable to lay. Potentially it could cause extreme pain in his awake state.

Sitting back on her ankles, Leòwyn contemplated her choices. She could let his body begin to heal naturally, and slowly, but that would cause undo pain and suffering with the possibility of loss of life if it became too much for his body to handle. Or she could use her limited knowledge of Elvin healing. Her mother had never claimed to be a great Elvin healer, but she had had training, under her brother, and had been proficient enough to heal most wounds her patients had encountered in the forest.

Leòwyn sighed. Her mother had also been half-Elvin. Leòwyn was less than that and was therefore able to do much less with her gifts. She was not confident she could heal all his small wounds and bruises. And she knew she would never be able to heal the injury that almost killed him as it blazed across his chest but she could possibly aid it along, to make the healing faster and less painful.

Her mind made up, Leòwyn once again began cleaning the rest of his body. He would need to be as clean as she could get him before she attempted any bodily Elvin healing magic. So focused on her task was she that Leòwyn did not even spare a blush as she encountered his manhood. She took a moment or two to study the differences, from a healer's perspective, before moving on.

Once she was confident that he had been scrubbed clean, and with a pile of dirty rags to show for it Leòwyn stood and shook out her stiff legs. She bent down to grab all the used rags and silently thanked her mother for always stressing the need for a large number of bandages and extra cloths to have on hand. She would have run out long before now on just this patient alone if she hadn't had that instilled in her since the very beginning of her healers training.

As she scooped all the soiled linens into her hands, she heard a quiet rustling. Leòwyn snapped her head around to the face of her patient and realized, he was once again awake. His eyes cracked open slightly, and his breathing deepening, almost seeming to gasp with pain. She could tell he was trying to handle the pain with deep breaths. He must have been through this before but she also knew he was likely to panic if she did not make him aware of his surroundings. With two quick steps, she was kneeling by his chest and looking down into his now wide eyes.

_His eyes are the color of honey, _she noted to herself.

Hesitant to touch him after the last time, Leòwyn carefully grabbed the ends of the pelt draped across his stomach and slowly pulled it higher. Then she gently rested her hands on his chest, with the pelt in between their skin, preventing any touching.

"You are safe, my lord," she spoke quietly, not wanting to frighten him into any quick movements that could cause injury. "Look into my eyes, and breath with me. Slowly, in and out."

As Leòwyn spoke in a calm, soothing tone, the man's body beneath her hands began to loosen up. She noted his muscles were tight, causing pain on injuries and bruises. Once she had assured herself that he wasn't going to go into shock, Leòwyn smiled slightly. Their eyes were still locked and she watched as the mans eyes widened slightly once more and his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile before a frown of pain marred his features.

"Let me get you something to help with the pain," Leowyn said and stood stiffly. She made her way to the caldron on the side of the fire and used the ladle hanging by the mantel to scoop some of her mothers broth into a wooden bowl she had used to carry the ingredients over.

Turning back towards the man, she caught his eye as she walked back. He had been following her with his eyes, his head slightly turned.

Kneeling, "I am going to lift your head," she said, waiting for his nod. With a smile, she slid her hand underneath his dirty blonde hair and raised it up just enough to allow him to drink the liquid she raised to his mouth.

"Drink slowly," she said softly. Leòwyn did not want him to get a stomach ailment before she tried to heal him with her Elvish teachings.

Once the man had drained the first cup, she turned back and ladled out another one. He would need all the strength he could get for the days to come and allowing him to start building it now would only help. With half left in the second bowl, he seemed to run out of strength and closed his lips against anymore broth. Leòwyn slowly lowered the bowl, and quickly wiped his chin, where some broth had dripped, with her tunic. His eyes were half lidded and he seemed to be in less pain than before, his breathing had evened out. Her mother's broth had the advantage of having Athelas in it as well, to help with the pain of injuries. She slowly lowered his head and watched as his eyes slid closed.

Leòwyn frowned. She had just realized she had touched him, skin to skin, when lifting his head but she had not had the pain she experienced before. _Maybe hair does not count?_ She thought_. Or because I am finally helping him heal the Valar are appeased._

Leòwyn raised her eyes skyward and cocked an eyebrow. Fickle are the Gods. With a shake of her head she returned the remainder of the soup to the caldron near the fire and replaced the bowl near it. She knew he would wake up soon and need more.

Once more moving around him, and grabbing the soiled cloth, Leòwyn made her way outside of Oaken Grandfather and into her quiet meadow. She scooped up some of her freshly made soap on the way out. Her soft steps lead her to the softly bubbling stream, and she bent down to begin the process of scrubbing the linens on the soft sand and rocks and wringing them out in the fresh cool water.

She would then leave them to dry on the small rocky bed. She would need them before long, to clean him once more as his fever began and broke. Cleaning the linens was a mind wandering task and allowed Leòwyn the time to contemplate all that had happened in the last few days. Looking over the treeline, she realized it was almost full night, the moon had risen high in the sky, and the only thing allowing her to continue washing the linens was her Elvin eyesight. Sometimes she didn't even know the difference between day and night, until she looked to the sky, given that her eyes were well made for both.

With a small shudder of unexplained fear, Leòwyn wrung out the last linen and laid it next to the others before quickly making her way inside. She stopped at the edge of her door and scanned the small meadow, looking for what had caused the spike in emotion. She found nothing, and with a frown of disappointment, retreated inside the door of the large oak.

A small part of her had hoped she would see something that had triggered her fear. She was beginning to think her fear came with her realization of darkness, and that made her sad. She had never loved the night, but she had never been afraid either. Leòwyn did not wish to be afraid of half the world because of the possibilities of danger.

As she quickly closed the door behind her, the gust of air its movement caused, Leòwyn suddenly smelled herself. With a wrinkle of disgust, she looked down at herself for the first time since she awoke and almost gagged at the amount of crusted blood that was hardened on her chest and arms. It was not her own, and that made the thought even more unpleasant. Glancing at her patient, she noted his sleeping posture, and decided to take care of her little problem right now. Walking over to the basin of water, which was running low she noted, Leòwyn dipped two of the smaller buckets into it and filled them with water.

Once full, she retreated to another alcove in Oaken Grandfather, off the main common area, that had been adapted to a small bathing room. A large wooden tub, built by Leòwyn when she had become interested in wood working many years before, stood solemnly in its center. She smiled faintly as she did every time she thought of how her Mother had loved this tub. It was large enough for a woman and a child to fit in and was decorated with a beautiful leaf pattern that swirled and danced along the sides. Leowyn quickly dumped the two buckets into the tub, before going back for more.

Three more trips to the basin and back, had the wooden tub full and Leòwyn quickly stripped out of her tunic and breeches. She sank into the wonderfully cool water and began to scrub her skin with a stiff soap bar.

Leòwyn scrubbed until her skin was raw, and pink from the abuse. She dumped two more buckets over her head to rinse the soap from her dark hair. She sighed as she stepped out of the tub considerably cleaner, finally feeling somewhat herself, and wrapped herself in a longer linen made from sheep's wool. The water in the tub was now an earthly brown color. She could smell a faint odor coming from it and she grimaced. With a quick tug, Leòwyn pulled the plug that held the water in her wooden masterpiece.

She watched as the water swirled at the base of the tub and through a small hole in the side near the bottom it drained outward and flowed down a small path cut into the ground. From there the water would flow out into the meadow and down into the stream to be carried far away to the Fords of Isen. Leowyn had been nothing short of ingenious as a child.

Tucking her linen cover into itself to hold up as she walked, Leòwyn strode back into the common room, placing the buckets back by the drained basin. She then trod over to the alcove that served as her room, and quickly picked out one of her more comfortable dresses, a soft yellow one that was slightly too short for her now but still fit well enough in all. Padding back into the main room, barefoot, Leòwyn sat herself by the fire, scooped out some of the broth as her dinner, she needed the strength too, and leaned back against the wall of the ancient tree that served as her home.

Leòwyn caught her eyes constantly wandering up and down the prone form of her patient. The strange attachment she had to him was still there, rooted deep in her chest, and she couldn't help by resent it. She had not asked to be bound to a man she did not know and now had to take care of. She still had yet to prepare herself for the ritual of Elvish healing her had decided to do on him to help his mangled body heal.

Leòwyn knew it was going to take a lot out of her already exhausted body. She wondered if she had the strength to heal even a portion of the sword nicks and mace bruises she had cataloged along his body. With a sigh Leòwyn closed her eyes, and lowered her body to the ground, pillowing her head on one of the soft doeskin pelts. The night had taken full possession of the day and she was tired. Her patient was comfortable enough for now and in no risk. She would begin his healing when the sun arose once more, and she had recovered a portion of her strength.

Her mother had always told her to never heal when weakened, otherwise Leòwyn would risk losing herself to the spirit-world. If she lost herself in the spirit-world, her body would begin to perish in the physical world as well. As her eyes closed on their own accord, Leòwyn smiled slightly and with a final thought succumbed to sleep, _the Valar would not allow me the honor of a death in the physical world, otherwise this man will likely perish as well._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

There was something peaceful about the way Leòwyn slowly faded out of her dreamless, healing sleep, into full awareness. Unlike her half-Elvin mother, Leòwyn slept as deeply as her human counterpart. Her mother had favored the light, open-eyed resting of the Elves. Leòwyn had never been able to get enough rest for her body that way, her human side needing more.

Her glacier colored eyes lay half hidden behind dark, curving lashes. She had never felt as rested as she did now, she thought. Her mind was floating in a soft cloud of fuzziness. It was a welcome change from the heart pulsing, gasping wake-ups she had experienced in days past. Leòwyn knew if she so chose, she could slip right back under the tide of her dreams, allowing the soft feeling to pull her back down past the wakefulness she was leaning towards. With a small sigh, Leòwyn made the decision her mother would have demanded.

Blinking her eyes to clear away the stars, Leòwyn rotated her head to look to her right, where the man was still resting in the same position she had left him in the night prior. She roamed her eyes down his body, taking mark of his breathing. It was deep, and even.

_Good,_ she nodded, _he is still sleeping...I wish I was as well. _

With a small groan of displeasure, Leòwyn levered her body into a sitting position. Her arms twinged slightly. She had fallen asleep in front of the fire, making her left side delightfully warm. Looking at the fire she realized it would need to be cleaned soon, so as not to smother the new wood with the ash of its predecessors. She leaned over slightly and piled a few more logs onto the dying embers. A slight chill had begun to creep through the walls of the large oak, which could not be allowed to continue. Her patient needed warmth.

Small rays of sunlight were just beginning to enter the Oaken Grandfathers windows. Leòwyn's face stretched into a small, lazy smile. She did not enjoy the feeling of waking up but once she was awake she loved the beginnings of a new day. With a few pops of her spine, Leòwyn stretched skyward, twisting her body from side to side to loosen her sore muscles. With a slight grimace, she leaned forward towards her feet to stretch her stiff lower back. Leòwyn mused, she had never felt as many aches in her body as now. She knew if her mother was here she would have gotten quite the scolding. Leòwyn had always had a habit of over extending herself. She allowed herself to get too invested in projects, and would not stop until it was to her satisfaction. This had led to many hard learned lessons while she was still in her early years.

"Stubborn mule," Leòwyn muttered with some amusement. Her humor had gotten her through many times of struggle since the loss of her mother. It was usually a self-deprecating humor.

With a swift movement, Leòwyn climbed to her feet and set about warming up the remaining parts of her mother's healing draught. She retrieved more ingredients from the cabinets across the common room and added them to the day old brew. She would need to have this in steady supply through the next few days. The man on her floor would need plenty of it, and it would be one of the few things his healing body would tolerate. She knew from experience.

Having a patient release all the contents of their stomach on her, after she had fed them something more substantial than a liquid brew, was not something she was keen to repeat. Leòwyn smiled ruefully at herself, it had happened more times than she cared to admit before she had finally accepted her mother's teaching on the matter.

As she moved on to her other chores, such as refilling the water basin at the far side of the large alcove, and collecting the now dried linens she had cleaned in the stream, Leòwyn began to hum a soft melody that reminded her of the beauty of spring. She could see the signs of spring in her meadow, from the small blades of green grass beginning to sprout through the morning frost to the sounds of animals once more moving about the forest.

In the coming weeks, Leòwyn would venture from her meadow to begin her collection of herbs, and the search for edible plants and prey. Her winter stores were almost up. She would need more substantial items, such as rabbit or deer meat, for when her patient healed and gathered the strength to consume more. His body would demand it soon enough.

With a contented sigh, Leòwyn stepped once more outside her oak, and padded softly to the bubbling stream. It was swollen to the banks as it rushed by full of melt off from the mountains that fed it. Leòwyn undid the two ties that held her dress around her shoulders before stepping, naked, into the stream which at its deepest came to her thighs. It water was biting cold, but Leòwyn laughed anyway. Her laughter rang through the meadow, high and sweet as a bell.

Leòwyn quickly scrubbed herself clean, her wash yesterday had cleaned her body well enough but the crisp, wild feeling of the snow melt always left her feeling more refreshed than an average bath. As she stepped back onto the bank and laid back on the still chilled ground, goosebumps sprang up on her body as she relaxed to let her body dry. A contented smile stretched her face.

Leòwyn's human side made her more aware of the cold than an Elf would but she felt it less than a full human. It was an enjoyable sensation, as opposed to a life threatening one to her. If a normal Man had bathed in such chilled water and then dared to lay, naked, on the early spring ground they would have certainly caught an ailment. Leòwyn had no such worries. Her Elvin side had never allowed her to fall ill, and she doubted it would start now.

As her rich chocolate hair finally began to dry in the soft breeze, Leòwyn sat up and began to braid it. She loved having her hair free around her shoulders, however she would need to change the man's bandages once more today and her hair couldn't get in the way. Once her hair was safely stored over her shoulder in a single plait that brushed the tops of her thighs, Leòwyn stepped back into the dress she had previously discarded. The soft, yellow fabric brushed across her skin as strode back to Oaken Grandfather, and slipped back inside.

Noting that the air was much warmer in here. With the fire burning brightly, Leòwyn knelt by the fire to stir the healing draught warming there. It looked well enough to be consumed. Casting an eye over her shoulder, she noted that the man had still not moved. He must be in a deep healing sleep. She hoped she did not wake him when she changed his bandages and prepared to perform the limited elvish healing she knew.

Gathering all the supplies she would need for both practices, she knelt by the side of the sleeping man. With gentle movements, she moved the pelts down to his hips and slowly cut off the bandages she had wrapped around his chest injury. Cutting the bandages was easier than trying to move his massive body from side to side to unwind them. She mentally sighed at the waste but she would repurpose them for something another day. Living in the woods, secluded and far from market, left her with very few fine supplies throughout the year. Leòwyn now knew how dangerous the world had actually become in her seclusion and she would not be making the journey to market if she had a choice. So she would reuse these bandages, if they were not too soiled.

Finally exposing the wound, Leòwyn eyed it critically. It was a nice healing ink that contrasted greatly against the pale color of his skin. The precise stitches she had sewn not two days past were holding nicely and did not seem to be stretching or pulling uncomfortably. She would have to ask him that when he woke up however. She silently thanked the Valar that the wound had been a straight cut and not with jagged edges.

Taking a clean rag, she wiped the remaining herbs and honey mixture from the sutures and picked up another rag that had been soaking overnight in the athelas brew. She wrung out the access liquid from the bandaged and then placed it on top of the stitches, to keep them moist and clean during the elvish healing. Leòwyn idly spot cleaned the rest of his torso, arms, and legs to make sure the wounds sported there would be clean for healing as well. She had no wish to heal some fouls inside his body.

Elvin healing was the very origin of medical lore. Her mother, a well-known healer in these parts, had endeavored to teach her only child as much as she could before her untimely passing. The first teaching was of knowledge of an ailment. Leòwyn had no concerns in her mind of the knowledge she had of the wounds she would be trying to heal on this man. She had felt them sear across her own body, she only failed to have the physical markings of them. She eagerly skipped that part.

Leòwyn felt her excitement grow and carefully reigned herself in. She still had the nervousness and impatience of a young healer. It was something her mother had sought to rid of her. With a deep breath she allowed herself to continue, with a firm grasp on her emotions this time.

Leòwyn adjusted her position to knee on the other side of the man, her hands hovering over his chest and her eyes closed, as she passed to the next teaching in her mind. Her mother had taught her how to feel a beings _F__e__a_, or spirit. It did not come as naturally to Leòwyn as it had to her mother but she was stubborn. Her mother had always told her she had had millennia of practice sensing _Fea_, and to not compare Leòwyn to her. Leòwyn was also a hunter and had taken life. This fact made it harder for her own _Fea_ to participate in the art of healing. Leòwyn stubbornly chose to ignore her mother and tried to match her mother's gift, even with her limitations.

Leòwyn focused and let her mind slip past the barriers of the physical realm with a small release of breath. To her it felt as if she was pushing through water. Some places rushed faster and therefore allowed her to ride those waves of spiritual power while others were sluggish and forced her to expend energy to move through.

Leòwyn could feel the sluggish energy running through the man below her. She stayed frozen, her hands placed gently on her patients chest, as her mind, tethered by her _Fea_, roamed in search of the place his _Fea_ resided. Just beyond her fingertips, she began to feel a glow build under her eyelids. She cracked her eyes open to look down at the now slightly glowing man while keeping a part of her _Fea_ still tethered in the spiritual realm. Men's _Fea_ was not as bright or as powerful as those of the Elves, or even the Dwarves, for their lifespans were so short.

As she looked down at her hands on top of his chest, she could see her _Fea_ emanating a brighter glow, almost making it hard to look at with her sensitive eyes. Leòwyn smiled slightly before closing her eyes once more. Seeing her own _Fea_ always gave her a feeling of strong connection to her late mother. Using her _Fea _as a guide, she latched onto the man's_ Fea_ underneath her hands and molded it to fill into the cuts across his body. With some guidance, his _Fea_ mingled with hers, stealing some of her light, to bolster and heal the injuries it could.

The energy shone brightly from the spots of the larger cuts, and especially in the large bruise on his back. As the mixture of their _Fea's_ moved through his body, Leòwyn moved her physical hands to the large, stitched wound on his chest. Sensing its progress she made the decision to allow it to heal under his own power. She was beginning to feel a tug in her core, which she knew meant her limit was almost reached.

Concentrating on the feeling of her own _Fea_, Leòwyn began to retract it from the man's. It was one of the hardest parts to elvish healing. To find your way back to your own body and leave all the progress left behind intact.

She continued to push against the weight water-like feeling as she felt the energy drain in the back of her mind. With a snap, consciousness flooded back into her body, as her mind and _Fea_ all settled back into their physical bounds. A loud groan escaped her as she sunk to her side as exhaustion suddenly ripped through her body. Leòwyn had overextended herself again. Her_ Fea_ felt threadbare and pulsed weakly but she could not help but be satisfied. Most of his non-life threatening wounds were completely healed and she was only suffering a headache, and weakness of limb. Her mind thrummed with the power she had just used.

Keeping her crystal eyes closed, Leòwyn took a few moments to calm her breathing and settle her heartbeat before she sat up slowly. Taking a mental assessment of her body, Leòwyn was pleasantly surprised. She was tired. Exhausted. But she hadn't fallen senseless, as she had many times before, and she had not needed to relieve herself of her morning meal, as had happened many times in the past.

Leòwyn adopted a look of concentration on her face as she contemplated why it had felt so natural, so easy to meld her _Fea_ with the man on her floor. Why had she been able to direct their combined _Fea_ to heal so quickly? Sighing, she realized she would probably never find an answer but she was thankful for it in this moment. Leòwyn assumed it had something to do with the strange attraction she had for her patient since the Valar had decided to intervene in his demise with the arrival of her.

Peaking a sharp, glacier eye at the man Leòwyn started. The man was awake and had turned his head to gaze at her sitting form. Rotating towards him, she reached out hesitantly to touch his hand. Leowyn waited for the pain as her fingertips brushed his skin. With a frown, she noted nothing different. Maybe the Valar had taken that gift back after it was no longer needed but Leòwyn decided it was safe to touch him when he was awake now.

"Are you in any pain?" Leowyn spoke, looking into his face, judging if his frown was from pain or had another cause.

Opening his lips, the man looked as if about to speak before a painful cough escaped, and his body shook with a coughing fit. Leòwyn rushed to the water basin and using one of the mugs scooped up some water and brought it back to his lips. She used a forearm to help him raise his head slightly. He gulped the water greedily before she pulled the cup away. Some water slipped down into his dark blonde beard.

"You still can't drink too much at once. It will upset your body," Leòwyn spoke at his glare. The man nodded slightly before leaning back down onto the pelt covered floor.

With a small cough, he spoke "Where am I?" His voice was raspy from disuse but Leowyn secretly enjoyed the deep baritone it carried.

"In my home. I found you at the Fords of Isen with a grievous wound and brought you here to heal," the healer said softly. At the mention of the Fords, the man surged upward. Or tried. He got as far as his elbows before falling backward with a loud hiss. His arm came around his midsection, groping at the stitches she had placed in his skin.

"Don't move so quickly," Leòwyn scolded, her hands halting his from picking at his wound. "Did you not hear me when I said you were wounded?"

With a tut, she helped him lay back down, placing a large bear pelt beneath his shoulder to allow him a vantage point. Maybe that would make him feel safer and prevent more unnecessary movement, she thought.

With sharp eyes, and a tone Leòwyn scowled at he said, "Who are you? How did I get here? I need to get back to my men. The battle!"

Leòwyn sat back down on her ankles, confident that he would not be ripping his stitches. "I am Leòwyn, daughter of Lilithien. I carried you to my meadow to heal you. And you cannot go back. Not until you are healed and the Valar release me from this burden."

Leòwyn thought it better not to mention the _Mearas. _The man already looked shocked, and she had yet to mention _Fea_ healing or how she had watched his forces very closely win the battle she had found him in.

Leòwyn continued to watch him carefully as he dropped his gaze to his hands. He fiddled with them and she noticed it must be a habit, as he did not seem to notice he was doing it. She would allow him to stay lost in his thoughts for a while longer. Retreating to the fire, she used the ladle and bowl she had placed there earlier, to scoop out some of her mother's healing draught. If he was going to think he might as well eat as well. He would need his strength to heal the wound on his chest.

Stepping lightly back over to his side, she caught his attention as she sunk to his side, "Here. It will help you regain strength."

With a nod, and slightly skeptical eyes the man took the bowl from her. He made no motion to drink from it, and when she realized why Leòwyn face flamed a soft pink. He didn't trust her not to poison him. With an indignant scoff, she spun angrily back to the fire and scooped another ladle into her own bowl. She turned back to him and raising the bowl to her lips she made sure to make eye contact with the man on her floor.

_Arrogant man,_ her mind hissed.

His face was blank which made Leòwyn scowl deepen. He began to drink the draught however and she settled down. She had at least gotten him to do what she wished and that was a victory in her mind. When he had finished off his bowl, he placed it on the floor next to him and continued his traveling gaze. He seemed to study every nook of her home as she watched him in turn.

Leòwyn settled beside the fire as her legs began to scream at her. She remembered she was still not recovered from her use of spiritual healing. She ladled herself another bowl of the delicious brew. She was so focused on her meal that she did not notice when the man's eyes had stopped studying their surroundings and instead had settled on her.

Her eyes snapped upward at his voice, still raspy and deep, "How did you come to carry me to this place? Are we close to the Fords?" He had a puzzled frown on his face that she thought made him look slightly less severe.

"We are half a day's walk from the Fords, my lord." She muttered, making direct eye contact with him. Glacier blue clashed with hazel.

_Let him dwell on that_, she gloated,_ I can anything but incapable. _

With a frown he looked her up and down, taking in her bare feet and old but sturdy yellow dress. Her chocolate hair was still pulled loosely into a single plait and her lightly tanned skin gave her a healthy glow. She was quite attractive, if a bit young for him. She was also thin, but the muscle he could see in her arms and calves told much. He still did not think a women of her stature would have been able to carry him so far.

His eyes narrowed slightly. The man noted the bags under her eyes and the way the muscles in her arms would twitch at random increments. Looking into her stunning eyes once more, he bowed his head, "Then I would like to express my deepest gratitude to you, my lady. I fear without you I would have lived through that battle. Will you tell me of it? I fear I do not remember much after I fell."

Leòwyn watched him for a few moments and sadness entered her gaze, "I would not speak of it without your query." Her voice had gone quiet and it tinged with pain.

He noted the bell quality of her voice and marveled at it. "It was torment to witness. Men and monster clashed at the Fords. I had ventured there to cleanse my tools, but was caught by a band of orcs." Leòwyn had her gaze firmly planted on the fur pelt below her.

"I managed to kill the first one, and outrun his brethren before coming upon you battle. I hid myself in the trees, seeing now safe path of escape. I watched as the sun rose high into the sky, and the men pushed those beast back across the riverbed. As the sun began to descend, the orcs seemed to become stronger and the line of men began to buckle. It looked dire before a new company of riders joined the fray. At dusk the orcs were finally pushed away and retreated at the sound of a horn. There were many lives lost. On both sides." She recounted her tale and then fell silent.

The melancholy expression on her face did not suit her, the man thought. "How did you come to find me?" He asked, leaning slightly forward before he felt the tug of the wound on his chest.

He looked down and for the first time saw the extent of his injury. It shocked even a battle hardened warrior such as himself. He had never seen anyone survive the type of wound now crossing his body.

Leòwyn finally looked up, to find him staring at his chest, his chin tucked to his collarbone. One of his hands was starting to trace the line from one side to the other. She moved quickly from her seat and grabbed the offending appendage.

"Please don't touch that. It is not even two days healed and it took all my skill to save you," she whispered.

When his hand halted, she realized how close she was to his face, his lips very close to her cheek. Flicking her eyes up, they made contact with the darker hazel she had come to expect of his eyes and they both froze. Leòwyn felt a blush creep up her neck. With a jerk, she pulled away and immediately felt the loss of his body's heat. She clamped her hands together in her lap and fought off the urge to touch him once more.

"Thank you." The man gasped, his eyes wide. Her eyes, so full of life, had caught him off guard, stealing the very air from his body.

Leòwyn looked up again, and smiled slightly. She nodded, "Would you like another bowl?" She asked.

_You will not make this uncomfortable you silly girl, he is a healing patient_, Leòwyn told herself.

With a nod and a murmur of thanks the man fell silent. As she handed him the bowl, their hands touched briefly and Leòwyn held in a gasp. Convincing herself that it was all in her head, she sat back and watched him eat the rest of his soup. When he was finished she reached forward to take the bowl, making sure not to touch his skin with hers. The tingling sensation of pleasure that it caused was distracting to her.

Noticing that the man's eyes were beginning to droop, she smiled slightly and shook her head. She was surprised he managed to stay away so long after such a terrible injury. It attested to his strength but he needed to sleep. She would need to bandage his wound again however.

She moved forward and sat next to him again, "I need to wrap your wound again before you sleep. It's easier if you are awake and can move if I need you too." The man nodded, his eyes glued to her face.

She once more grabbed her paint brush and the honey and herb mixture she pasted on wounds to keep them clean. Flicking her eyes to his, he understood she was asking permission and he gave a slight nod. She carefully smoothed the sticky balm over his stiches, covering the slightly pink and puckered skin with the dark brown sap. Placing those down by her side once the entire wound was covered, she grabbed the new bundle of linens that served as bandages and placed the beginning at the far end of his wound. Leòwyn once again fought a blush and she methodically wound her way around his strong body once and then twice before tying the bandage end off on his right side. She pulled away, slightly shaking and eyed her handiwork. It was as good a job as she had ever done. Her mother would be proud.

She noticed he was watching her and she smiled, "All done. Please try to get some rest, you will need it."

With a small nod she stood up and collected the remains of his old bandages and healing materials. She placed them carefully on the other side of the large alcove common room. Leòwyn busied herself over there as an excuse not to look backwards at her patient. The man sent her heart racing like a small bird in her chest and it made her middle feel like a dead weight. It was not a bad sensation she mused but it was utterly distracting.

Finally, she braved turning around and immediately her eyes darted to his face. His eyes were closed, still resting his body in a small incline over the bear pelt. His breathing was even and deep and she knew him to be asleep. Sending a small thanks to the Valar, Leòwyn moved around him to the fire, added a few more logs, before retreating to her bedchamber. As she reached the door to the small alcove she had slept in her entire life, she glanced backward once more to reassure herself he was indeed safe.

Leòwyn shook her head at her own paranoia. It was driven by a need deep inside her and it felt as natural as breathing. She stepped through the door to her bedchamber, immediately advanced towards her linen covered straw bed and sank gratefully into oblivion the instant her head touched the pelts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Leòwyn awoke suddenly, panic constricting her chest painfully. She was immediately aware of her surroundings and incredibly warm. With a brutal shove, she pushed the pelt she had dragged over herself in sleep to the floor. Looking down at dress clad figure, her bodice was drenched with sweat and the skirt was wrapped around her damp legs. Her hair had begun to stick uncomfortably to her forehead and back, still in its long plait.

A deep frown covering her face, Leòwyn looked to her window in Grandfathers outer wall and knew something was wrong deep in the center of her being. The night still dominated the world, which meant she had slept very little. Something was unnatural about the sweat that was quickly drying on her body.

Leòwyn had never been ill in her lifetime. She mused it could be a side effect of the spiritual healing she had done yesterday but that had never been something her mother had experienced. A stray thought, like lightning in a dry summer sky, had her placing herself on her feet and striding to the common room with three long strides of her shapely legs. If it wasn't her fever she was feeling, the cause might be outside her body. Caused by the man she had a strange attachment too, who was currently on her floor. She was beginning to get used to his body's ailments affecting hers.

As she made it to the opening that separated the two rooms, her eyes snapped to the form on the floor, assessing even as she stepped closer. His body was prone, arms once again spread to his sides, much like she had found him that day by the river. _Was it really only a scant three days before?_ She thought.

There was a heavy sheen on sweat on his exposed face and chest but she had expected that. All injuries as large as the one he sustained would go through the period of fever. It was the body's natural way of ridding itself of any harmful ailments that were not swept away during cleaning.

Kneeling besides his body, she placed a small, cool hand on his forehead. With a jolt she realized the sweat was not an indication of how high his fever had run. He was burning from the inside out, much too hot for his body to contain. That is why some must have transferred to her body. Her connection with him had been stronger since the elvish healing she had performed. With a quick thought, she thanked the Valar for her timely rouse from sleep. Leòwyn would need to cool him down and quickly. She had seen many an animal and once a woman, burn up from fever and never recover.

With busy hands, she stripped the pelts from his body and picked up one of the longer linen sheets she had left in a pile by the side of the room. Rushing to the water basin, she plunged the entire sheet into the water, allowing it to become completely submerged. The water in the basin was cool enough to be of use. As Leòwyn pulled the sheet out, section by section, she rung it out until it was only slightly dripping before gathering it all in her hands and returning to her patient.

The most pressing concern was his core. She would need to cool down his middle and his limbs would follow after. With a grunt she hauled the wet linen over his body, draping it from shoulders to hips. She also lowered his upper body by jerking the rolled bear pelt from underneath his shoulders. Keeping him elevated might hurt his breathing while she was trying to cool him down. Getting up once more, she went back to the basin with some smaller linens. She quickly soaked them as well before bringing them back and placing them under his arms, on his forehead, and in between his neck and the floor.

Leòwyn sat back and waited for him to awaken. It was common for fever patients to awaken in an addled state and she did not want him to cause himself injury. Idly she wondered if she would always be this in tune with his needs. It was beginning to cause her much worry.

She sat staring into a corner of the room as the hours ticked by. She watched the candle she had lit slowly burn down. Her thoughts flittered from one subject to the next, mostly centered on the man she was a hand breath away from touching.

A deep sigh, from the man next to her, shook her from her morose thoughts. His eyes were blinking sleepily, as if trying to clear.

Leòwyn leaned forward until she was in his eyesight, and spoke softly, "My lord?"

The man's head turned slowly towards her, and blinked. He seemed to be trying to form words. "Leòwyn?" he gasped, his eyes now wide and almost tinted yellow in the dying firelight. He remembered her name. That was a pleasing thought.

With a small sigh of relief, Leòwyn's face lit up with a beaming smile. She hadn't killed him. _Yet,_ her snarky mind supplemented. "How are you feeling?"

With a grimace, the man raised his head slightly and looked down at himself, still covered with the damp linen. "Why is this cloth wet?" he asked, voice gaining strength.

"You were burning with unnatural fever. It was not a healing fever and would have only harmed you further, so I used this sheet to cool you down," Leòwyn replied standing and moving towards the water basin one more. Scooping two cups of water out, she moved back and placed them at his side.

"Let me help you sit up once more, and then you will drink these two cups of water," she said.

With a raised eyebrow, the man stayed quiet but allowed her to place the bear skin pelt back underneath his shoulders, leaning upward as far as his wound would allow. Once he was settled back, she handed him the first glass of water and stared at him expectantly. With a small hidden smile, the man raised the glass to his lips and realized how thirsty he was. The first cup was quickly gone. As he lowered the first one, he was met with another cup at his eye level. This woman was quiet the nag.

As he finished off the second one, Leòwyn stood and refilled both cups, placing them within easy reach of his arm. "Drink those more slowly, your stomach will thank you." She said and moved around him to scoop two bowls of her mother's healing draught out of the caldron over the fire. She would need to let them cool before allowing her patient to consume them.

"You said this fever was unnatural. How did you know?" The man spoke from behind her.

With a slight blush, that she quickly squashed, Leòwyn faced him, "I am a healer. I should know such things."

She hoped her would drop the subject. She was not ready to broach the subject about her knowing strange things about him or that she could feel their connection whenever she reached out to him. She wondered if he felt it as well. He was a Man and therefore much less in tune with the world than she was, as part Elf.

With a nod, he seemed to accept her answer before reaching for the cups of water and slowly beginning to sip on his third one. Leòwyn let out a small unnoticeable sigh. She moved over to him, intent on removing the now warm, still damp sheet from off him and replacing it with another, dry one. The pelts were no longer needed in her healer's opinion. They would just make him uncomfortably warm now.

As she approached he looked at her and she gestured to the damp cloth, "I should remove that before you catch the opposite of a fever."

She reached down and scooped up a dry sheet from the pile. She handed him the dry linen, and focusing on peeling the damp sheet off him, Leòwyn kept her eyes averted to the side to give him privacy. A smothered laugh which he passed off as a cough was her signal to turn her eyes back to her patient.

A small smile was playing on his bearded face and she realized he knew exactly what she was doing and it amused him. That sent a spike of annoyance through her. This man was quickly learning how to press her buttons, and she could not decide if it was a good thing. At least this man was well enough to find humor in his situation.

"Soon I will need to change your bandage as well," she said, irritation leaking into her voice.

Then another thought occurred to her.

"I don't know your name," She said, looking down at him, blue eyes curious. The man was currently sipping on water and staring into space.

With a cough of surprise that caused water to splash onto his chest and slight wince as he felt his stitches pull, his eyes snapped up in time to see Leòwyn smother a smile behind her hand. With a frown and a rueful shake of his head, he place the cup on the ground before looking back at her. Maybe he wasn't the only one who could annoy the other here.

"Théodred, my lady. My apologies for not introducing myself sooner." His deep baritone caused a shiver to travel her spine. Leòwyn blatantly refused to admit to herself that she liked it.

With a small goofy curtsy, that stretched a smile onto the man's...Théodred's face, Leòwyn replied "You were unable to introduce yourself for a long while, my lord. I do not fault you."

"That does not excuse my lack of manners of questioning you before you were aware of who I am," Théodred rebuked but softened his self-reproach with a smile.

A curious look came over Leòwyn face as she moved to the fire and then to hand the now cooled healing draught to him, "From your position on the battlefield, I assumed you were of some importance. Will you tell me why I believe the Rohirrim were searching for something, that something being you, after the orcs retreated?" she took a seat by his right side, folding her legs beneath her, back to the fire.

Théodred was silent for a few moments, his eyes looking into the distance. Leòwyn waited, slowly sipping on her meal, and sneakily studied the man once more. His light brown eyes rested below a strong brow, one that was prone to frowning Leòwyn mused. A small frown had settled on his face even now. He had a very strong jaw, even his beard did little to soften its line. His hair and beard were the same muddy blonde that was common amongst the people of the Kingdom of Rohan and his skin was a weathered tan, of a man who spent most of his life under the sun.

Seeming to find his way back to the present, Théodred directed his eye line to meet her gaze. Once more, he seemed as if he was seeing her for the first time, eyes widening as they connected with her ice blue. "It was my Eored that was the first to the battle," his voice was surprisingly quiet, "I have come to believe it had laid in wait for myself."

Leòwyn felt her hand twitch as she fought the desperate urge that sprung within her chest to smooth out the wrinkle in his forehead with her fingers. She was coming to understand that he was a much burdened man.

"Why would you think such?" She asked.

"From the start, there seemed to be a drive to cut off my charger from the rest of my brethren. My personal guard was quickly besot by the largest and most dangerous orcs I have ever encountered. There had a steady rise in the number of skirmishes over the last years but I have never seen such creatures in all my years," Théodred responded. He looked down at his bandaged covered torso.

"One of them gave me this," He said with a grimace, "I fell and have no memories of the battle after."

Leòwyn's mouth opened slightly in surprise as she connected the dots. "That is when the line of men buckled in the center. They believed you to be dead and despaired." The man before her snapped his eyes to her, his strong fingers stilling as they played with the rim of his drained cup. With wide eyes, she spoke again, "Who are you?"

With a large sigh, the large man seemed to make a decision. "I am Théodred, son of Theoden King. Crown Prince of Rohan and Second Marshall of the Riddermark."

For Leòwyn, time seemed to slow to a stop. She sat, frozen, eyes still wide and lips parted, staring at the handsome man across from her. His stern gaze held her transfixed as he waited for her to return from her shock. It was now no question as to why the Valar had willed her to save him.

Seeing that the woman next to him was still struggling with the knowledge of his being, Théodred softened his gaze and gave her a small smile. Without thought, Leòwyn returned it. A nervous chuckle escaped her and she shook her head slightly, directing her eyes to the floor. Leòwyn knew she needed to tell him that is was no coincidence that she had found him with enough time to save his life. It was no coincidence that she had been a witness to a battle that she should not have been anywhere near.

"It seems I now know the reason that I was chosen," Leòwyn spoke, her voice wavering slightly. She knew she was safe, even if he did turn to anger at what she was about to tell him, as he could barely push himself up into a semi-seated position much less stand of his own power. Théodred sent her a questioning gaze.

"I did not find you by accident, my lord. I was pulled to you, by a power not my own," Leòwyn spoke quietly, her voice slowly gaining the power of her own conviction. "The Valar wished for you to live, and chose me as the one to complete that task." She lifted her eyes from the hem of her skirt to his face once more. His face was slightly skeptical.

"How is that possible?" he asked.

Leòwyn shrugged. "I do not mean to say I know the power of the Valar or even why I was chosen. But I do know that this connection I feel to you is not of my own doing. I was drawn to where you had fallen by an invisible force upon my own body, I felt your wound spear through mine as if I had been the one struck, and only after I had done as much as my healer abilities allowed did the pain abate."

Leòwyn winced as her hand came to rub the area of her body that matched his wound. She could also fantasize that the last echoes of pain were still there.

The man's eyes tracked her hand where it rubbed circles under her sternum. "You felt this wound?" He asked, disbelieving but not towards her, Leòwyn noticed.

He almost seemed to be in awe. "Even with that pain, which sent my mind into darkness, you spirited me away from the battlefield and healed me, and therefore saved my life?" His voice had taken on a higher tone.

Leòwyn looked him dead in the eye and noted his slight hysteria. "I did not have all of the pain in all moments. It ebbed like the flowing of a river. It was agonizing at moments and I found myself without the ability to breathe, and at others I could direct my attentions elsewhere."

With a shake of his burly head, and a smile that lit up his face, Théodred chuckled deeply, "You, my lady, are quite astonishing. I do believe the Valar chose correctly."

Leòwyn blushed and looked down once more. Her body felt flushed at the praise and she struggled to control the smile that threatened to give away her inner thoughts.

He spoke again, distracting her, "You said this power drew you to the battle and that the battle lasted much of the daylight hours. I cannot seem to connect the pieces of how to you got me back here in the dead of night."

Leòwyn rolled her eyes heavenward. Was she to now give away all of her secrets to this nosey man? The Valar were laughing at her she was certain, knowing what a selective person Leòwyn was.

"I did not carry you by my lonesome, my lord," She cast a skeptical eye at him before continuing. He would believe her or he would not. "Shadowfax carried you to my meadow."

It was Théodred's turn to stare. He knew the name of the Lord of All Horses but the thought that this mere slip of a girl was on a personal basis with such a being was shocking. "I was the burden of a _Mereas_?" He whispered.

With a calm smile, Leòwyn nodded. The man had taken that better than she would have guessed.

"How did you get me onto the back of such a creature?" he asked, once again looking at her body's outline in her yellow dress. She was slight. She couldn't be more than nine stone. He was much closer to fifteen or sixteen stone. She should not have been able to drag his dead-weight much less heave him onto the back of a stallion.

With a tutt Leòwyn cocked an eyebrow at him, "Do you wish to know all my secrets, my lord?"

Blank faced, Théodred responded, "Yes." His answer caught her off guard.

She puffed her cheeks and blew out a long breath. Leòwyn had a long history of little trust in men. She had only ever trusted her mother. And possibly Gandalf the Grey when he had chosen to visit their home.

With a small snarl, seeing that the man was not going to let this matter end if his staring was anything to go by, Leòwyn bit out, "I am an Elvin descendent. I am quite a bit stronger than a mortal female."

Théodred smothered his surprise and looked her over once more with a finer tuned eye. He could just see the small point to her ears that peaked out from around her braided hair from a few feet away. This day was full of wonders for him. First the_ Mereas_, and now a part she-elf. He looked then to the scowl that was etched onto her face. Suddenly, he felt shame. This woman had saved his life, and he was interrogating her for her secrets.

"My lady, I apologize for my forwardness. I have a habit of wanting to know everything, which on many occasions has put at odds with those it shouldn't," he said with a rueful smile, "I am very grateful to you and owe you a substantial debt." He bowed his head towards her.

Leòwyn shook her head, and wondered when she had already forgiven him. Telling this man her secrets had not made her as uncomfortable as Leòwyn was accustomed too. She would think on that at another time. "You are forgiven, my lord." She smiled at him.

"Théodred," was his reply.

With a puzzled look, she asked, "What?"

"Please call me Théodred," he said, "It is what my friends call me."

With a quick smile, "We are friends then?" she asked. She ignored the warm flutters in her chest at the thought.

Théodred smiled back, white teeth flashing, "If you wish us to be."

A rapid nod was his answer and he chuckled. It seemed that they were still on good terms which pleased him. He wanted to be closer to this woman. It was becoming easier to move his abdomen and he hoped that meant this wound was healing correctly. He realized that he had full trust in the woman he was in the care of. She had saved his life, it was instinct that told him that he could trust her.

"I would like to change your bandage now, my lo…Théodred," Leòwyn said, distracting him from his thoughts. He realized that his eyes had dropped and exhaustion was tugging at his mind. Leòwyn had probably noted it too, he mused. He had noticed the close way she studied him, her brilliant eyes not missing a thing. He liked the thought of her eyes on him. She was a beautiful woman he told himself, of course any man would bask in her attention. He adamantly stomped on any further thoughts.

With his nod, Leòwyn kneeled by his side and began by cutting off the old bandages that were stained with a brown liquid. She talked as she worked, "That color is from the honey and herbs mixture I used to keep your wound clean and damp enough not to allow the stitches to harden." Théodred found her soft voice soothing.

She hummed slightly as the last bandage loop came free, parts of it sticking to his skin, and the large wound was exposed. Théodred felt a chill spring up on his arms and exposed chest, as if his body remembered its pain. Leòwyn reached to the side of him, bringing a small pelt and draping it over his shoulders. It was just enough to protect him from the soft breeze in the large room. He smiled at her in gratitude and watched as her cheeks turned a pleasant pink before it quickly receded. She had a tight control on her body's responses he noticed. Not complete control with that blush as evidence but impressive none the less.

As she cleaned his wound with a damp cloth and repainted on the honey mixture, Leòwyn found herself humming a lullaby that her mother had taught her. It was meant to soothe restless children. Looking up at her patient she noticed with a smirk that it seemed to work on grown men as well. His eyes had drooped even further, his face slack.

She quickly wound new bandages around his broad torso, humming a new tale of a mothers love for a child. She refused to acknowledge how close her face was coming to his every time her arms needed to wrap around his back. _Why does he have to be so large? _She thought.

Soon enough, she was tying the final piece of cloth to hold it all in place and she leaned over slightly to pull the bear pelt from under his shoulders. He needed to lay flat and stretch out his stiches if the skin and muscle were going to heal in their proper place. Carefully cradling his head, she lowered it slowly to the ground and then pulled the sheet up across his chest. Théodred was full entrapped by his body's need to sleep, a warm fuzzy feeling filling his head. One part of his mind was still awake however so he felt when warm, shapely lips were pressed to his head just below his hairline. He haven't felt so safe since he was a lad. A small smile stretched his lips before he succumbed completely to oblivion.

Leòwyn didn't know what possessed her to kiss the top of his head before retreating back to the fire but the smile that had bloomed on his face had set her heart racing.

Shaking her head, Leowyn realized that the light had crept slowly across the sky since she had awoken so abruptly this morn and it was now well passed the high hour of the day. She still had a few candle marks until the moon once more claimed possession of the sky. She made the decision that it was a good time to begin working on clothing for her sleeping patient. She had stripped his ruined, tattered clothing when she had brought him back from the battlefield. And she certainly did not keep clothing around the house that would fit a man, much less a man of his stature.

Moving over to the small alcove, more of a closet that a room, Leòwyn sorted through the fabric she had on hand. She knew that making even one set of leggings and a tunic for such a huge man would take a much cloth as almost three dresses for her. Pulling out a few yards of soft doeskin, for his trousers, and a hardy tan cloth for a tunic, Leòwyn sighed. She would have to get more the next time a traveling merchant traveled through her forest. She didn't dare venture out very far, after the events of the last few days and the nearest village was over a day's fast walk away.

Bringing the doeskin, cloth, and her sewing needles back to the fire Leòwyn settled herself comfortably before it and laid it all out before her. She surprised herself by already having mental calculations done of his measurements. She knew intimately how broad his chest and shoulders were, how thick his thighs were.

Leòwyn pushed her blush down, refusing to succumb to her emotions. She would need to finish these quickly. It might have been the Elvin healing she had performed on him, or possibly he was just a robust healer, but she had been shocked when she had seen how far along his wound was healed. The thick, and vibrantly red ling across his chest had only been tinged a light pink and the swelling had gone down immensely. He would need these clothes soon she knew.

With that thought, she pushed all others thought besides measurements and placing the needle in straight, even lines in the fabric. Leòwyn had a gifted hand, steady and calm, perfect for healing. Perfect also it seemed for sewing. Sewing fabric and sewing a body back together were very different she mused but she was equally gifted in both it seemed. She had made all of her own clothes since she could walk, and thread a needle. Her mother had made sure that she would be self-sufficient.

So focused was she that Leòwyn hardly noticed the soft crickets of the animals outside her door as the sun faded below the trees. By the time her body screamed at her to rest, her back throbbing painfully, Leòwyn had almost completed the tan tunic. She held it up to her body and laughed softly. It was comically large compared to her slim form, it would be a very unflattering dress on her.

Pulling a few more stitches together, Leòwyn placed all her tools to the side and twisted her torso to give her back relief. With a few satisfying cracks, she unwound and faced the fire once more. Placing two more logs onto it to keep it burning through the night, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Théodred was sound asleep under the white bed sheet, his head lulling to the side.

Soundlessly, another gift of her Elvish heritage, Leòwyn stood and padded over to her room. Once the sun rose once more, she would need to venture into the forest to find food to make a more hearty soup for both Théodred and herself. They both needed to continue to regather their strength.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Théodred stirred lazily, his head rolling to the side. He had finally slept soundly, without any interruptions and he thanked Bema for it. Since his injury, he had felt exhaustion always present in that back of his mind, slowly claiming him until he could no longer move his body to his own will. Cracking his eyes open, he watched the movements of the woman he was coming to know as she bustled around the fire, throwing wood onto it, and placing another large caldron over the flames.

He wondered at how far across the sky the sun had tracked idly. In the end it didn't matter, he knew. He was going to spend the days away on this pelt covered floor until his healer decided differently. He could already feel the restlessness he knew well, clawing at his patience. But he had also seen a glimpse of the stubbornness of the woman currently slicing carrots with a long hunting knife. If him being alive was any indication, she was incredibly stubborn and willed miracles into being.

Continuing to watch her smooth movements, he let his mind wander back to his childhood. Since he was a lad, he had always been restless. As soon as his father had let him past the wide plains on the other side of Edoras' walls, he had roamed the countryside. He had always been supervised of course. No one would ever allow the Crown Prince to venture on his own. Even so, his horse and company had become familiar to even the most mobile horse clans that traveled the plains, following the herds. Théodred dearly wished to be on the back of Brego now, riding free across the land. A glazed-eyed look overcame the proud warrior as he thought of his intelligent and strong stallion. He hoped the charger had survived the battle at the fords.

As Leòwyn threw the last of the ingredients she had left in her store room into the bubbling caldron, she turned and noticed the open eyes of her patient. He seemed to be caught in his own thoughts for his eyes did not flicker to her as she moved towards him. Kneeling down slowly, so as not to startle him, she placed a small hand against his forehead as his eyes finally focused on her. With a small smile, she spoke, "You slept a very long time Théodred. Do you feel rested?"

Théodred nodded and smiled in return, enjoying the feeling of her cold hand on his skin, "I have not felt this rested in many years."

Leòwyn nodded as if it made complete sense, her smile turning rueful, "That is because you slept for two nights without stirring. I was beginning to worry, but your fever has faded and your injury looks to be healing well."

Théodred's eyes widened in response. Two full nights? He could not remember ever having done that. Even as a child he had had too much energy to lie abed for long after the sun peaked across the plains. He would have been starving as a child if he had. As if on cue, his stomach let out a rumbling gurgle. Two days without food while healing itself had left his body wanting.

A small giggle escaped Leòwyn's lips as she returned to the fire, her long braid swinging across her back, and ladled some of the healing brew from the small caldron on the side. The heartier stew over the fire would not be ready for some time. Théodred stared after her, caught off guard by the heavenly sound that had escaped her. He had never known a woman that made such bell like sounds as Leowyn. Even her speaking voice was a soft melody.

"This will help. The stew on the fire now will be ready soon," She said as she handed the bowl to Théodred then helped him lever into a sitting position. She shoved the bear pelt once more under his shoulder blades. He immediately took to gulping the draught as a starving person would. Leòwyn shook her head but did not try to stop him, and refilled the cup once more as he handed it to her.

After two more full bowls, Théodred finally focused his attention back on Leowyn. "Thank you," he said with a grin. She smiled in return.

"I am going to venture into the forest this morn. There are supplies I need to gather, for healing and in search of food," Leòwyn said. Théodred raised his eyebrows at her in question.

She shook her head, the smile growing on her face, her straight small teeth flashing brightly. "Not yet. Your body needs a few more days of rest before we test your limits."

The man grumbled as she marveled at the fact that she had known exactly what he had been thinking. She had known him for less than a fortnight. Maybe their connection had not severed as she thought it had.

She stood and made her way to the door of Oaken Grandfather, swirling her cloak around her shoulders. Stopping before the entrance to her home Leòwyn grabbed her satchel in one hand and a large, wicker basket in the other. She was wearing her favorite pair of doeskin trousers and one of her newest linen tunics, this one in a dark grey. She slung her satchel over her shoulder then bent to grab her bow and arrows that were leaning against the wood. She had placed them there for easy access and now she placed them on top of her satchel strap before looking back once more at her moody patient. It had amused her greatly when Théodred had pouted about not being allowed to come. She doubted he would have made it more than a handful of steps. She knew how weak his body was even if he did not. She also knew he would find out soon. He had the restless energy of a wild stallion, if she did not let him stretch his legs soon he would do it without her.

"Be safe," Leòwyn said, humor coloring her voice.

With a smirk and eye roll at the sad eyes he was directing her way, Leòwyn stepped out the swinging door of the giant oak, hand falling to the hunting knife she had strapped to her waist to reassure her nerves. She quickly took long strides to reach the edge of the meadow. With a deep, stealing breath, she left the safety of her home and ventured into the dark forest. _This forest feels darker and less safe by the day_, she thought, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

Leòwyn made quick work of journeying to the usual places she found her healing herbs. As she gathered enough to last her for a few weeks, she kept her Elvin senses finely tuned to the surroundings. It would not do to get caught unaware by the dark underlings of whatever evil had arisen in Middle Earth. She had seen less animal life than ever before on this journey. It deeply worried her. It was as if the animals could sense the darkness creeping over the world and fled as well.

As she stood from gathering a few bushels of Athelas, she tucked them into her satchel and removed her Elvin made bow and strung an arrow across the string. It was time to hunt for meat. Unlike her Elvin counterparts, Leowyn consumed meat. It was one of her main sources of nutrients and her human side made it all the more vital for her. Theodred would also need it for his recovery.

Stalking through the trees on soundless feet, Leòwyn carefully halted as she heard rustling in a bush over a three horse paces away. Focusing her eyes on the twitching leaves, she smoothly raised her arms, bringing the arrow head back towards her face with one strong pull, her shoulder blades retracting towards each other. She froze, not daring to breathe.

With a whoosh, the arrow released from her tensed bow string and a squeak signaled it had found a target. Leòwyn sprinted forward parting the bush and found her arrow imbedded in a small rabbit. It had not been a perfect shot, as she had barely seen its body through the leaves, and the poor animal was still twitching painfully. With a grimace, Leòwyn quickly drew her hunting knife and slit its throat. She did not want any of the animals she hunted to suffer and it weighted on her mind when they did. With a sigh, she carefully removed the arrow head to not damage the flesh and returned it to her quiver after wiping it clean. She picked up the rabbit reverently, saying a prayer of blessing to the Valar under her breath, and returned to place its body in the wicker basket she had brought with her.

A few more hunts, with two more successful kills, Leòwyn decided it was time to head back. With the darkness under the trees growing denser as time passed, she had a hard time judging the time of day but she figured the sun should have barely passed directly overhead. Strapping all her belongings to her person, she looped the basket over her forearm and began her journey to Oaken Grandfather and her patient.

Leòwyn had made sure not to journey far from her meadow, and was stepping softly back into the ring of light that came from the gap in the trees above her head in less than a candles mark. She briefly stopped at the slow stream to wash the root plants and leafy vegetables she had gathered.

Once more moving forward, she had reached the entrance to Oaken Grandfather when she heard a thump and a strangled yelp. Rushing through the makeshift door, she halted at the sight before her.

Théodred was not where she had left him. He had stood up, moved his way towards the alcove that housed the large tub, and had met the earth once more before making it through the door. With a curse, she dropped all of her prizes and moved to his side swiftly.

"You daft man," she hissed, anger slowly rising in her. "Did I not tell you to be safe? Does reinjuring yourself sound safe?" Leòwyn continued to curse and she helped Théodred rolled over so that his back was on the ground. His face was scrunched into a pained grimace. He seemed to be holding his breath. The sheet he had wrapped around his lower half had come loose, but Leòwyn did not have time to help him cover himself.

"Breathe," Leòwyn coaxed, placing her hands on either side of his rib cage. With a shuddering gasp, Théodred drew a breath and opened his eyes. There were tears at the corner of his eyes.

"Tell me what hurts," she pleaded. Her hands roamed randomly over his body looking for bleeding, or anything out of place, like a broken bone.

"My chest" Théodred said, his voice coming out as a gasp, "it is a stinging pain. But not a new pain." He slowly wiggled his fingers and toes, flexing one muscle at a time until he had reached his chest. His wound was flaring with pain once more but he expected that, after landed almost directly on his front.

"Lay still while I check," Leòwyn snapped, her fear being replaced with anger once more. Théodred winced.

He knew this had been a gamble when he had made the decision to give himself a bath but the more he had lain there, smelling himself, the less he could take it. His patience had finally snapped. Looking at the face of the woman hovering above him, her hands moving quickly over his body, he could not help but notice how untamed she looked in her anger. There was a wild quality about her tightly pressed lips, and jagged eyebrows. It was beautiful and he could not tear his gaze away.

Her eyes blazed with blue fire as she poked and prodded his wound, making sure the stiches were holding strong. She had undone the bandages and carefully checked them for blood, which she found none. Leòwyn knew she was being anything but gentle as she pressed on his ribs, his winces telling her all she needed to know, but she was too angry to care. She swiftly pulled the sheet closed without giving him a single glance, feeding on her anger as a way to smother her embarrassment. With a final sigh, she sat back on her haunches and brought her eyes to his. She could see the regret prominently in his eyes. She felt the hard lines of her face, pinched in anger, slowly ease.

"What were you thinking?" She asked quietly, not fighting the urge to touch him. One of her hands came up to brush hair from in front of his eyes, and the other rested on his chest, above his wound.

His eyes pleaded with her, asking for forgiveness, as he spoke, "I wanted to have a bath and I thought I could make it there, but it seems I am weaker than I have ever been."

The derision in his voice startled her. Leòwyn realized she should have expected it. He was a warrior, and known to be a legendary one at that. Tales were already being sung about him in Rohan, even she had heard them and that was very rare. Usually heroes had to join their ancestors before songs were sung in their honor. Leòwyn knew what it was like to lose what you had always taken for granted. Her mother had died a slow death, and had lost much before oblivion claimed her. Leòwyn had watched from her side as she had withered away and felt the pain deep in her soul as if it was her own.

With a shake of her head, to dispel those thoughts, she sighed heavily then smiled, "Then let's get you a bath." The surprise on his face was rewarding enough for her. She fought a blush.

Théodred had braced himself for her to continue to yell at him, but she understood his emotions more than he expected. He was suddenly flooded with an immense gratefulness. With a returned smile he nodded.

"Stay there while I prepare it, do not try and get up by yourself" Leòwyn said a warning in her tone.

She got up and strode to the water basin that she had refilled just that morning. She noticed Théodred nod out of the corner of her eye before relaxing his bulk back on the floor. Using the buckets resting by the side of the cistern, she quickly moved them to the fire, placing both over the two hooks adapted for such purposes. Leòwyn knew she was being overly nice. She could make him bathe in the cold water she frequently bathed in but by warming it up it would help his muscles relax and hopefully undo some of the damage his fall had caused. He might not feel the ache now, but his body would not forget meeting the ground so forcefully.

While she waited for the water to warm, Leòwyn moved towards the small alcove to place some of her homemade soap and a large, soft sheet at the edge of the tub. Her eyes flickered down to Théodred's, noting his solemn face. She did not like the lines it made in his forehead, she wished to only see him happy and unburdened. With a secret smile, Leòwyn stepped lightly over Théodred who finally broke out of his troubled thoughts to catch her playfully mocking grin. He responded with a slight, questioning frown.

As she retreated into the room, she threw back over her shoulder at the prone man, "One day I shall recount the grand tale of the Crown Prince of Rohan, lying powerless on the floor of my common room while I poured him a fresh bath that will have left him smelling like the Noble Woman of Gondor."

Her bell-like laughter echoed in the high cavern on the Oaken Grandfather above her head. Comparing the giant, scruffy warrior to the dainty, privileged women that resided in the White City was absurd. Her comment had the intended result.

Théodred snorted before his laughter joined hers. "I will never hear the end of it." His face showed delighted surprise at her attempt to lighten his mood. Leòwyn grinned at him, pieces of her hair falling untamed around her oval face. Théodred felt his chest squeeze uncomfortably as their eyes met, hers sparkling with laughter and his awed.

Placing the items she was carrying on the small stool next to the tub, Leòwyn stayed crouched on her heels. She ran her fingertips lightly against the edge of the sculpted wood. Her mother's laughing ae once more rose in her mind's eye.

From behind her, she heard Théodred ask, "That is a well-crafted tub. How did you get such a work of craftsmanship in this small area?"

Leòwyn smiled wistfully, still staring at the tub, fighting her memories. "I craved this from a large branch that had fallen in the meadow. It was a gift for my mother." She heard his intake of breath and knew she had caught him off guard.

"You are very skilled Leòwyn," Théodred responded at length. It had taken him quite a few moments to organize his thoughts. Not only was this extraordinary woman a healer that had saved him from a wound he had only ever seen on dead bodies, but she was also a successful craftsman. He knew she lived alone so it made sense that she was self-sufficient.

"Would you tell me of your mother?"

Leòwyn stiffened immediately, her lithe body screaming with tension. Her hand froze on the rim of the wooden hallow. Théodred wished instantly to take back his request, but his only recourse was too wait. Leòwyn slowly me this eyes, and gave a watery smile. There were tears gathered at the corners of her eyes that she refused to allow to fall. The liquid made her crystal eyes shine brightly.

"I'm sorry Théodred but the pain is still too close to my heart for me to speak on."

With a grimace and a well of self-reproach sitting as a pit in his stomach, Théodred nodded, "Of course. I apologize for asking, it is not my business." Leòwyn shook her head in response, braid whipping across her narrow shoulder blades.

"I have not spoken of her in many years, but perhaps one day that will change. She is always in my thoughts." Her voice was quiet, heavily tinged with a sadness so profound that Théodred felt his own emotions rise to create pressure behind his eyes.

With a sudden leap, Leòwyn rose to her full height and stumbled slightly before stepping over Théodred once more. She avoided making eye contact, keeping her gaze averted towards the wall in front of her. She did not want to see the pity or pain she had caused to him to feel for her. She could still feel his eyes on her as she reached the fire and quickly moved the heavy buckets full of boiling water towards the small bathing alcove.

As she approached, arms straining from the weight of trying to keep the buckets level, Théodred used his legs to push himself across the floor away from the opening of the door. That movement did not seem to bother him or cause more pain for which Leòwyn was thankful. She reached the tub, placed one of the buckets of boiling water on the ground and poured the first in the tub. It was quickly followed by the second.

Leòwyn then ran to the cistern and scooped two cold buckets of water out. They joined the boiling water in the large tub, cooling the temperature of the water. Testing the water with a hand, she noted it had gone from boiling to pleasantly warm. She sprinkled in a few lavender soap tablets she had made the spring prior to help relax his muscles into the steaming water.

Finally, she turned towards the man who had been watching her. She smiled slightly, moving to help Théodred off the floor.

Kneeling down by his side, she helped him sit up by adding pressure to his back. When Leòwyn was sure he was not going to fall backwards, she moved to lean forward in front of him, hands and arms outstretched to him. Théodred grabbed her small hands in his large ones and slowly curled his body to place weight on his heels.

She was surprised by how easy it was to lever his bulk off the ground. Théodred was panting with exertion by the time she had placed herself under his left arm and shoulder, wrapping an arm behind his back and taking a good portion of his weight. Looking up at him, her other hand gripping his arm that was slung across her shoulders, she asked the question with her eyes. Still breathing heavily, with shadows under his eyes, Théodred nodded.

They started a slow shuffle forward, Théodred focusing very carefully on the placement of his feet. He grunted a few times as his stitches pulled or unused muscles tweaked on the way to the steaming tub. The room had become wonderfully warm and the air had a heavy, moist feeling to it. A soft, sweet smell floated through the air.

Carefully, once they had reached the edge of the tub, Leòwyn helped him step into the shallow end of the tub which slanted to be deeper on one side. He groaned as the muscles in his thigh twitched from disuse.

With a swift motion, keeping her eyes on his face, she unwound the sheet wrapped around his waist and let him sink into the warm water. He let out a hiss as the water lapped at his wound line. Slowly, Leòwyn watched his body relax as the warm water and lavender did its job of releasing tension in his muscles. With eyes closed, Théodred let his head rest back on the edge of the tub and sighed in pleasure.

With a small smile, she left him and picked up both the buckets once more. She would warm another bucket over the fire and then mix it with a full bucket of cold water, leaving two warm water buckets that he could rinse with. She snorted internally at her sappiness. She was spoiling this Prince. She hardly ever warmed water for even herself to bathe with.

As soon as she had settled the water over the fire, and prepared the cold water bucket, she walked back into the room to see Théodred watching the door with cracked eyes. He seemed to be completely content in the warm water. When she entered his eye sight, he smiled slightly and raised his head from where it was resting.

"The soap is at your side on the stool, along with a rag for bathing," Leòwyn said, crossing her arms over her against a sudden chill.

Looking at his broad, bare chest, pale against the large red wound line that stretched from his left to right, she felt a fluttering in her chest. He was looking at her with a sleepy gaze, completely relaxed the way a lion was relaxed while sunning on the plains. Her mind screamed danger. Leòwyn couldn't decide if she liked it, it made her nervous.

"Will you help me, Leòwyn?" Théodred asked.

When her name crossed his lips, the hair on her arms and legs stood at attention. She felt a shiver run through her body. Théodred made no sign that he noticed her reaction but Leòwyn still fought a blush. Not trusting her voice to not betray her, she nodded.

He continued, "I don't think I can reach my back with these tree trunks of arms." He gave her a rueful smile as she finally convinced her legs to move and took steps towards the man in the middle of the room.

Returning his smile, Leòwyn kept quiet. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure he could hear the drum of it well across the room. She approached cautiously, as if approaching a éodred could see the tension in the lines of her body and the stiff movements she made. He almost regretted making her uncomfortable but he had seen the way her body had responded to his plea. He hadn't been able to stop himself from willing her closer to him. He had never been drawn to a woman as he was drawn to Leòwyn.

She was a wisp of a woman but everything about her caused a reaction in him. He was willing to bet that she was still flowered. Her responses made him think of a young deer, scared of its own shadow but innately curious. That thought did nothing to stop his want for her but he tempered it harshly. He was not the type of man to take what he wanted with no regard towards others. He had known some men like that in his life, and had always been at odds with them. He was also coming to realize that he wanted more from this woman than any woman he had ever been with in his life.

Leòwyn reached his side, as he made this large discovery, and it burned in his eyes as he stared at her. The emotion she saw resting in his face almost sent her scurrying from the room but she was nothing if not stubborn. Her mother had always told her that. Leòwyn was uncertain about how to tread around a man, but she knew she would rather be by his side than farther away.

As she picked up the rag and soap off the stool, Leòwyn kneeled down by the side of the tub. She had to focus on her breathing to keep it even as she had the desperate urge to run her hand through the curling, blonde hair that covered a good portion of Theodred's chest. She forced her stare away from his chest, and looked into his eyes, her hands freezing.

"You should do the portions you can, to help stretch muscles that haven't been used in a while," Leòwyn gasped out, handing over the soap and rag quickly. Her cheeks reddened as his hands cupped her briefly. She stood and stepped back to give him some privacy, directly her eyes to the floor.

Théodred had the urge to laugh but quickly stopped himself. He did not want to frighten her, or have her think he was amused by her embarrassment. If anything, he thought it endearing. He focused on his task. Cleaning his chest, stitches, and legs took very little time however his arms were shaking by the end. He cursed his weakness internally. Laying immobile for almost a fortnight had done more damage to his stamina than he had ever expected.

"I am finished," He spoke, directing his gaze once more to the woman who he knew had been peaking at him.

He had graciously pretended not to notice. She stepped up to the back of the tub, accepting the rag and soap from him. He leaned forward in the tub to give her access to cleaning his back. He had to fight his reaction to having her so close.

Théodred almost flinched as he felt soft fingertips gather his hair and swing it over one shoulder. Her touch sent a trail blazing across his back. Every place the rag and soap touched left his nerves on fire. He didn't know how much he could take, each moment dragging. Soon enough she pressed on his shoulder, her hand barely spanning its expanse, motioning for him to lean back once more. As he leaned back, she made sure to keep his hair from clinging to his wet back and let it hang over the edge of the tub.

"I have a mixture for hair to make it soft and not knotted," Leòwynsaid from behind him before she strode out of the warm room.

She reentered a few moments later with a small jar of what looked like butter and a bone comb. She pulled the stool and perched herself behind him. Her fingertips touched his forehead pushing his head back so she could reach all of his hair. The feeling of her touching his head, and running her fingers, covered in that jarred substance, through his hair was a new pleasure.

Théodred was a very personal person, even his body space was not often violated by others. He rarely touched others, with a brotherly hug or warrior hand clasp the exception. He marveled at how good it felt to have someone touch him so freely and with gentle purpose. Leòwyn began to hum softly as she lost herself in the silkiness of the man in front of hers hair. She felt him almost melt into the water, a soft sigh closing his eyes completely. She determine to take her time and let him relax, so she idly played with his hair as she let the mixture soak into the individual strands. When she had surmised that it had soaked long enough, she gently pulled the comb made of bone through his hair, untangling even the hardest earned knots.

By the time the water had started to turn cold, Théodred was practically purring like the lion she had compared him to earlier. Leòwyn didn't even bother to hide her smile. She felt a thrill rush through her at the knowledge that she was able to turn this strong, gruff man into a house kitten with just a warm bath and playing with his hair. Théodred grumbled when she lifted her hands from his hair and stood to go get the water for rinsing. As she moved towards the door, she indulged the urge to look behind her and caught Theodred's stare. She couldn't decipher the emotion she saw dancing in his honey colored eyes, but it sent heat straight between her legs.

What was this man doing to her?

She had to restrain herself from skipping over to the fire. She brought the through hot water over to the cold basin and poured half cold, half hot into both buckets before returning to the bathing room. Théodred's eyes had once again closed and his head was resting tilted back.

"The water is getting cold, Théodred. I brought rinsing water," Leòwyn spoke. His eyes snapped open and he nodded, slowly using the tub to push himself into a sitting position.

Leòwyn stood close to the tub and pouring the first bucket slowly over his head while he made sure to get the soap residue off. Théodred then shot her a wicked smile, which made her nervous, before the muscles in his arms rippled and he pushed himself to stand in the tub. It was by pure will alone that he did not fall and remained standing. Leowyn gasped as she took in his entire body. The heat was back, and began to pulse in her blood as she stared at him with wide eyes. Théodred wobbled slightly before taking the pale of water from her hands and dumping it over himself. With his head upturned towards the water, his eyes closed, Leòwyn thought he looked very much like what one of the Valar looked like. Pure, unbridled, naked power.

Her blush was turning her face a vibrant red as she clumsily grabbed the sheet and placed it in front of her eye line. She had seen every inch of him and she wasn't prepared to confront how that had awoken something in her she had not known was there.

Théodred grasped the towel from her and with a Cheshire grin spoke, "I think that was the best bath I have had in a long while. Thank you, Leòwyn."

Leòwyn only nodded, eyes still wide. Her expression caused a loud laugh to erupt from Théodred's lips. Soon he was bent in half, one hand on the tub and one on the towel around his waist, as he gasped for breath, loud chuckles still escaping his chest. Leòwyn couldn't help but laugh as well. His booming laughter was infectious. With a shake of her head, she stepped forward to help him balance as he composed himself enough to step over the ledge of the tub. She could suddenly feel the small shakes that tremored through his body. The healer in her acknowledged that his body had had enough and now needed to rest.

"Let's get you back in front of the fire, you need to rest," she said her arms once more coming to support his weight. Théodred nodded, feeling the exhaustion at the edge of his mind.

"I meant what I said Leòwyn," Théodred said, stopping them from moving as he looked down at the petite woman, "I haven't felt such happiness in longer than I can tell you." He watched as Leòwyn blushed again but she smiled widely back up at him. He admired the symmetry of her face.

"You are welcome Théodred." With that they moved as one until the wounded man was once more spread out on the floor of her common room, covered in a thick sheet, long limbs making the space look much smaller.

Leòwyn sat herself before the fire, and busied her shaking hands by ladling two large bowls of the soup she had made hours prior. She handed one of the steaming stew bowls to Théodred and they sat in comfortable silence, eating quickly. His hair was quickly drying from the heat of the fire and he seemed as content as she had ever seen him. Théodred ate two more bowls after the first then leaned backwards and closed his eyes. Leòwyn moved towards him, his eyes cracked open as he sensed her come close, and pulled the pelt from behind his shoulders.

"Get some rest," She said quietly, "your wound looks good enough to leave uncovered from now on." Théodred's hand found hers and gave it a small squeeze before he closed his eyes and fell quickly into a restful sleep. Leòwyn spent a long moment staring down at his peaceful face before returning to gaze into the fire, contemplating everything that had happened today.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Leòwyn's high-pitched laugh echoed in the crisp morning of the meadow, bouncing off the surrounding trees and filling the space with an otherworldly lightness. Théodred noticed all of this the same instant that he once again tripped over his stubbornly weak feet. With a small "Oof," he landed on his palms.

Théodred was getting good at catching himself before he made contact with the ground even if it strained his chest and pulled at his healing wound. Another trill of laughter followed his clumsy movement. He let his body relax onto the ground softly and laid there, soaking in the feeling of contentment. He had become accustomed to the peace that pervaded the very air that surrounded Leowyn and her life.

Leòwyn was not naïve to the world as Théodred had originally suspected. She knew of the dangers posed on the very edge of Middle Earth and yet, she still found the ability to believe in hope. That was one of the things Théodred had come to admire about her.

Two fortnights had passed since Leowyn had found him at the Fords and saved his life by bringing him back to this small alcove. He had been bedridden for much of that time and as if she could sense his growing restlessness, Leowyn had finally allowed him to venture outside. He had begun to test his strength when he quickly realized he had lost much of it. His body had worked valiantly to heal his many wounds and it would take many days to regain much of what he had lost. Théodred looked down at his cloth covered chest and smiled.

Leòwyn had presented him with trousers made of fine doeskin and two tunics made of soft but sturdy cloth. They were expertly made and fit him very well. Leòwyn must have been working on them for some time, the sewing being as artfully done as he had come to expect from her.

In his first attempts to walk, clad in his new clothes and striding barefoot, there had been much hidden laughter. Théodred had never felt as though he was a newly birthed foal more than he had trying to take his first steps in that meadow. He had actually eaten dirt too many times to count in those first few days.

Looking up from where his large arms had caught himself, right before his face had met earth, Théodred couldn't help the large grin that stole across his face. Leòwyn was standing not ten paces from him. She was bent in half with her hands holding her sides, laughter etched on her face. Leòwyn had been hesitant to openly show her humor the first time he had missed a step. That had quickly ended when she had rushed over to him, only for his shoulders to be shaking with laughter.

Since then, they had had many days filled with laughter at his expense as he relearned how to use his body. And once at hers when he had thrown her into the deep part of the little stream. She had come out, looking like one of his father's hunting dogs, after it had come in from the rain. How his father had cursed that animal. And how Théodred had laughed. He had laughed until he couldn't draw breath.

Théodred admired the care-free way her eyes crinkled at the sides and her lips curved upward for another moment before roughly forcing his body back to its feet. He had been trying to catch up with Leòwyn before he had forgotten to actively lift his feet and had come crashing forward. She must have seen the glint enter his eyes for Leòwyn straightened and with a sound that reminded Théodred of the small birds that inhabited Edoras, she swiftly ran from him. Leòwyn was exceptionally fast, he had noticed. Her bare feet barely seemed to touch the ground when she moved. He had heard stories of the ability of Elves to move silently and he had seen Leòwyn use that ability.

Leòwyn was as graceful as an Elf at times, and as clumsy as a human at others. Théodred shook his head at the numerous bruises he knew her legs carried from her own carelessness. He had seen her trip over her own feet or the edge of a pelt, or bump into the entrance of an alcove in her giant tree when she was not paying enough attention. She was a walking contradiction and it endeared him to her even more.

Taking slow but steady strides towards the side of the meadow that Leòwyn had escaped too, Théodred called, "You will not think it so funny to laugh at my misfortune when I toss you once more into the stream, Leòwyn!" He looked forward to flinging her lithe body over his shoulder as she yelled at him to let her down.

"You would not dare!" Came the reply, tinged with apprehension. There was something else in her voice that gave Théodred pause.

As he rounded Oaken Grandfather and caught sight of her form, he immediately noticed another form standing directly in front of her. Her slight body did nothing to shield the large, white horse. Théodred instantly felt his body tense as his feet sped up as he was a few paces from his woman and the legendary animal. _When had he started thinking of Leòwyn as his woman? _The back of his mind supplied distractedly. With a shake of his head, he locked eyes with Leowyn who had half turned to motion him closer. She smiled slightly at his hesitance. There was worry in her eyes that did little to calm his nerves.

Théodred took the last few steps, closing the gap before stopping at Leòwyn's side. He had noticed that she looked even more fragile next to the massive being. He found his eyes glued to that of the mythical horse.

"Théodred, may I introduce Shadowfax, the Lord of All Horses."

His mind was numb. He could not seem to make his tongue reply, so with effort he ripped his eyes from the horse and looked down towards Leòwyn. She was smiling at him, and as he turned towards her she grasped his right hand in hers and guided it to rest on the neck of the _Mereas_. Shadowfax tossed his large head and whickered. Standing next to Shadowfax allowed Théodred to realize just how massive the horse was.

_At least 20 hands at the shoulder_, he thought. That was two hands taller than Brego. Brego had been his largest mount.

"What a magnificent horse," Théodred said quietly, addressing the stallion as his hand continued to brush over soft white hair. Shadowfax turned to study him with a dark, intelligent eyeball. He felt as if his soul was laid bare.

"Shadowfax does not visit without a reason Théodred," Leòwyn's voice brought him back to the present. He looked down at Leòwyn and noticed the worry lines on her forehead. Her crystal eyes seemed to have darkened as well. He had noticed they tended to change color depending on her mood.

Théodred felt the muscles in Shadowfax's neck ripple, and retracted his hand just in time. The horse in front of him tossed his head one more time and sprung off his front hooves to slam them into the ground for emphasis. Clumps of dirt sprayed to the side.

"What does he want then?" Théodred asked, addressing the woman at his side. He took a few more half steps back to create some distance between himself and the powerful horse. His hand dragged Leòwyn backwards with him. He would not allow her to get hurt by flailing horse hooves.

Leòwyn frowned and directed her attention back to the _Mereas_. "Are you here for Théodred?" she asked quietly as if she already knew the answer. Her shoulders seemed to tense awaiting the stallions response.

The horse blew out a large breath through its nose and bobbed his head once. A heavy sigh to his right told him all he needed to know. His time of peace and healing had come to an end. He could not stop the sinking feeling in the twisted in his gut.

His thoughts must have shown on his face for Leòwyn quickly reached out and grabbed his hand to squeeze gently. It had become their sign of support for one another. He squeezed her hand gently in return. He had resigned himself to once more venturing into the world of growing darkness some time ago, he had just hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

"When must I go?" He asked the stallion in front of him. He idly played with Leòwyn's fingers as he kept his attention on the horse. He did not want to leave her, or even see the pain on her face which he knew must be there already.

The horse seemed to look through him once more before directing his attention to Leòwyn. He heard another large sigh before Leòwyn gave a tug to his hand, forcing his eyes downward. He heard rather than saw the retreat of the large horse. A grimace adorned Leòwyn's face, tugging her beautiful lips into a frown.

"You must go as quickly as you can. Something is coming Théodred."

"What do you mean? What is coming?" He asked. They had both turned their bodies to face one another, both hands now grasping the others.

With a shake of her head, Leòwyn said, "I do not know. But it is connected to the darkness I can feel stealing over the land. It grows stronger by the day. You are needed once more." She broke eye contact as he saw her eyes get misty. She averted her gaze to the ground.

Leòwyn felt a squeezing pressure in her chest as she realized the time she had dreaded was here. She knew that Théodred would be called away from her to confront evil once more. The Valar had saved him so that he could continue to play a role in the battle to come.

Freeing one of his hands from hers, Théodred gently placed his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his once more. "Do not turn away from me Leòwyn," he pleaded.

His heart hurt at the sight of her pain-filled eyes. He watched as a tear welled in the corner of her eye and softly dropped to roll down her lightly tanned cheek. His chest clenched as he quickly wiped away the tear with his thumb, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. He had never before allowed himself to touch her, except for her hands. Their eyes were locked onto each other's and time seemed to slow. Never before had he seen such eyes, the color of water from high in the mountains where glaciers froze and thawed with the seasons.

Leòwyn heard her rushed breathing in her ears as she stared at the man she had saved and come to know. She tried to memorize the honey color of his eyes, and felt the ringing in her ears increase as her heart began to beat faster. She did not know how she was to return to her solitary life as if she had never met him.

With a sudden surge of emotion that Théodred could not control, he leaned forward to capture Leòwyn's lips with his. The passion he felt behind the kiss stole his remaining breath away. He had wanted to kiss her for some time but had not wanted to frighten her away. The emotion that came with knowing he would now have to leave her made that reasoning seem silly.

As his lips made contact with hers, it felt as if a fire began to consume his body. He felt her surprise and hesitation before they both vanished and her lips molded to his. Leòwyn was kissing him back and the thought sent a surge of pleasure through Théodred. He felt her arms come up to lock around his neck. He buried one hand in her hair as the other brought her closer to him, pressing her body against his chest as her knees wobbled.

Leòwyn's head swam as she felt Théodred deepen the kiss. She was vibrantly aware of the rock hard chest she was pressed against, and the feeling of his soft lips on hers. She was experiencing so many sensations at once that she thought she might lose herself and yet she did not want this feeling to end.

Then the thought, _Théodred is kissing me, does he also feel what I feel? _Leòwyn's fragile hope for what she had not allowed herself before flourished in her chest.

All too soon they slowly broke away from each other, eyes coming into contact once more. Leòwyn's were shinning with something that sent Théodred heart beating faster until it felt as if it would leap out of his chest. His one hand came to gently cradle her face as their foreheads bumped together. They're breath mingled as they both desperately tried to calm their breathing and racing hearts. Théodred's other hand stayed on her lower back, steadying her as he felt her body tremble. He felt her nimble fingers recede down his shoulders and grasp the cloth over his chest.

A sudden thought entered his head, "Come with me?" he asked, breathless.

It was a selfish wish, he knew. This was her home and he had seem the pure joy she had being here. But if there was a chance that he would not have to be separated from her then he would take it.

Leòwyn's eyes widened before her body caught up with her mind. Then she stepped away from him, her face sliding out of his grasp. Her mouth opened and closed and he could see her warring emotions in her eyes. He wondered when he had gained the ability to read her emotions so well and so he waited. He wanted this to be her decision, whichever way she chose, and so he did not add anything more. He did not dare utter the words of how much she had come to mean to him or how lost he would have been without her by his side these last fortnights. How she had become a source of happiness he had never expected to find in his lifetime. Emotion swelled in him until he had to bite his tongue until he tasted his own blood to keep it from escaping.

Leòwyn must have seen some of what he was thinking for her face softened. She must be able to read him as well as he could read her. "Stay one more night," she said, "I will give you my answer in the morn. I cannot decide so quickly." Her eyes lightened but were still troubled. Her teeth gnawed on the lower part of her lip.

Théodred nodded in response, it was a better answer then he had allowed himself to hope for. With a quick stride he closed the gap between them and engulfed her small frame in a tight hug. Her head came to rest on his chest, and he felt her release a long breath of air as her arms snaked around his back and she pressed herself into him. They stood together for many long moments, basking in the feeling of holding each other. Leòwyn could feel their hearts slow and begin to beat in concert. Théodred's hand came up to cup the back of her head and he leaned down to kiss her hairline. She couldn't stopped the sound of contentment she released and she felt his smile against her head.

Théodred pulled back, his right hand reaching to grasp her left. She smiled as he gently squeezed her hand and as one they turned back to the large white horse that had been watching this silent exchange from a distance, in between lazily chewing on the grass of her meadow. Leòwyn opened her mouth, "Tomorrow, my friend."

The large stallion shook his head, sending his mane whipping around, once more before he went back to grazing. Leòwyn's attention was focused on the_ Mereas_, however Theodred's attention was entirely on her. A smile stretched across her face and Théodred couldn't help but marvel at her beauty.

"You are beautiful." The words escaped his lips before he could think of tempering them. Leòwyn's eyes snapped to his, the smile still playing on her face. He registered the shock he could see in her eyes and realized he was the first person to tell her that, besides her mother. Leòwyn had still not told him the full story on her mother, and he was going to let her come to him when she was ready. But he knew that her mother had been a rare beauty, just as he considered Leòwyn to be.

"Théodred…" the way she whispered his name, in a sigh, made him want to wrap her around him again and kiss her until all she thought of was him. As if she shared the same urge, she was in front of him again and gently leaning forward on her toes to kiss his lips. He felt her unease and hesitancy. He had never considered Leòwyn to be shy, she was confident in almost everything she did, but he knew this was likely her first time ever being kissed by a man. He liked the thought of being the only man to taste her. He deepened the kiss, with her responding in kind, until they were both breathing heavily once more.

He finally gathered the strength to break away from her addicting, soft lips. He swayed slightly as if intoxicated. He certainly felt high enough right now. He looked down at her to notice her eyes were still closed. Her face as peaceful. Leòwyn hummed and opened her eyes to meet his. She sent him a breathtaking smile before turning nimbly on her toes and taking a few steps towards Oaken Grandfather. She stopped as she noticed Théodred was not following and threw a look over shoulder. Her eyebrows were raised in question and she brought a hand up behind her back.

"Come Théodred," she said, her bell-like voice sending a pulse of pleasure through him.

Théodred smiled and quickly grasped her hand, allowing her to guide him across the green, grass covered meadow_. _

_That is how easy it is to lose your heart,_ he thought. For he knew that he had lost his heart some time amidst the laughter and healing that he had done with her. Leowyn had full possession of his heart and he would have no other.

Théodred's heart beat had finally begun to calm down, as he focused on the feeling of her small hand in his, and the gentle sway of her hips. There was nothing that he did not find mesmerizing about Leòwyn. Even her dirty, bare feet sent a jolt of need through him. He pushed those thoughts aside. He had been the one to steal her first kiss, of that he was certain. He would wait an eternity if that is what she needed to go further than that.

Leòwyn noticed that Théodred seemed to be lost in his own mind, and allowed him the silence. They entered Oaken Grandfather, still grasping each other's hands as lifelines. Leòwyn turned to face him and kissed him one more time. She was becoming to love the taste of his lips and the freedom she felt to be able to touch him. This time it was but a peck on his lips, to bring him back to the present before she stepped back and released his hand. It took all of her willpower not to reach out once more, to feel his skin on hers. She moved to the storage bins in the back of the common room, where she kept food that needed to stay in a dry place. Leòwyn quickly pulled out two portions of rabbit meat that she had dried and a handful of berries. She added homemade cheese she had kept through the winter and piled it all on a small clean cloth.

As Leòwyn busied herself making their midday meal, Théodred fought with himself to resist the urge to go stand by her. Just to be close to her. He felt the loss of her warm hand in his, and her presence at his side. He shook his head. Théodred reminded himself that she was only a few feet away and that she was just getting food. He wondered if it was normal to feel this way towards another person. He had no one to model after, his mother Elfhild had died in childbirth and his father had rarely spoken of her.

Breaking off two large chunks of bread, Leòwyn quickly made her way back to Théodred's side. He had not moved except to sit down in front of the fire, his upper body leaning leisurely back on his flat palms. As she approached, he turned his head and gave her a small smile. She felt her stomach flip as a smile stretched her lips in return. Leòwyn placed the napkin of food between them and sat down beside him, folding her legs underneath her.

"Oh no you don't," Théodred griped. He did not like the amount of space between them, he couldn't touch her as easily. He leaned over the food and grasped her with both hands around her slim waist. With a rippling of muscles, he lifted her from his side and deposited her gently in front of him that she was in between his thighs, with her back able to rest on his chest if she so wished. It had happened so fast that Leòwyn had had no time to object to being handled like a doll but still, Théodred's touch had sent a wave of heat through her. She found herself less indignant and more satisfied.

Theodred watched her tense back. He knew that Leòwyn had a temper when it suited her and he had taken a risk in deciding to move her without her consent. The woman was fiercely independent and he couldn't blame her. She had been on her own since her mother had passed and even then she had only ever had her mother as a support system. Theodred hoped he could provide a new type of support for her.

Leòwyn cocked her head and sent a narrowed gaze back at the large man. He seemed content with their position now but was watching her with alert eyes. She instinctually knew that he was waiting for her reaction.

He had yet to touch the food even though she knew they were both hungry. With a smirk, she sent her elbow to impact his ribs lightly but with enough force to be a warning. Théodred gave an oof as some of the air in his lungs was forcefully expelled.

"Are you well, my lord?" Leòwyn's voice mocked him. She couldn't hold in her small chuckle.

Théodred sat shocked, his hand coming up to rub where she had hit, before he joined in the laughter. This woman was going to a challenge. One he hadn't known he was missing.

With a devilish grin, he leaned forward and brought his hands around to poke at Leòwyn's sides. He was willing to bet that she was ticklish. Leòwyn tried to squirm away, small bursts of giggles escaping her however his warrior reflects were too fast for even her to get away from. Théodred flipped over, pinning her below him, in a move that twinged his chest but he paid it no mind. He mercilessly attacked the woman below him, her breathless laughter mingled with his triumphant chuckles.

"You must be punished for attacking a member of the Royal family and for addressing me as my lord. Do you yield?" Théodred boomed. Tears began to leak out of Leòwyn's eyes and she was nodded rapidly. When he finally pulled his hands back and placed them on either side of her head, she was still gasping for breath, her giggles dying off. Her eyes closed as she worked to control her breathing.

Leòwyn opened her eyes to find Théodred staring down at her. He was no longer smiling and the intense look on his face gave her pause. It ignited a fire in her belly. She brought one hand up to rest against his cheek and watched as he nuzzled into her hand his lips grazing her palm, eyes still locked on hers.

Théodred slowly leaned down to take her mouth with his. It was a sweet, sensual kiss. Nothing like the ones that had left her breathless and shaking as before but it was no less consuming. Leòwyn decided that she could kiss him for the rest of her life and be content. And with that she also realized she no longer had a choice on his question. She would follow him to the ends of Middle Earth if he wanted her too, even if it meant leaving behind the only life she had ever known. She kissed him gently one more time before pushing herself up.

Théodred backed off, seeming to sense that she was contemplating something. He quickly switched their positions, with Leòwyn placed in front of him once more. His stomach rumbled in hunger but he waited for Leòwyn to move first.

Leòwyn chose a piece of meat and some cheese from the pile next to her before leaning backwards and resting her body against Théodred's chest. His arms were still holding his body weight up, palms digging into the pelt covered floor, and he could feel the strain on his wound but it was a delightfully painful stretching. He could feel his muscles working and shifting as Leòwyn leaned backwards.

He suddenly felt warm as her body heat radiated between them. He watched as she began to eat, her eyes focused on the slowly burning fire in front of them. Her body had completely relaxed with the exception of her arms that were now raised above her head and holding a piece of meat up to his face.

With a grin he leaned forward and grabbed it with his teeth, making sure to catch her fingers between his lips. He heard her light gasp and his smile grew. He enjoyed teasing her, just as he had the first time he had stood up after his bath and watched her face turn the color of eldenberries found in the high plains.

They sat, content, as they both ate until their hunger was sated. Leòwyn popped the last berry into her mouth, the sweet fruit delighting her tongue. She began to hum, eyes closing as she rested against Théodred's chest. One of his arms had come to wrap itself around her midsection and it was providing a comfortable warmth.

Leòwyn's head slowly slipped to the side as she succumbed to sleep. Behind her, Théodredshook his head, he found her to be the most adorable woman he had ever met. He let her rest for a few moments before carefully maneuvered her into his arms. He stood slowly, not wanting to risk falling over, and carefully walked her to her bedchamber alcove. It was sparsely furnished, with a large stray bed in the center and a few chests that held her other belongings.

Théodred could feel his exhaustion pulling at him as well as he made the last few steps to her bed and lowered Leowyn onto the linen. He had been able to do a lot more today which he hoped meant he would soon regain his strength. He pulled a pelt over Leòwyn, gazing down at her slack face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, the smell of her lavender hair tickling his nose. He sometimes forgot how wonderful she smelled.

Turning to retreat back to the pile of pelts that served as his bed, Théodred only made it a step before he felt a hand on his arm. He found Leòwyn's small hand gripping his forearm with a surprisingly strong grasp. Her eyes were still closed he noted but she wanted him to stay. He could deny her nothing. With a soft grunt he lowered himself onto her bed beside her and relaxed as he felt her scoot back until her back was pressed against his side. The warmth that radiated between them soon had his body relaxing. His mind succumbed to the darkness as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

It was barely past dawn break when Théodred and Leòwyn pounded out of the forest meadow on the back of the Lord of All Horses. Everything had been packed quite quickly in the dark hours before daylight. Leòwyn couldn't help but think she had forgotten something she might need but the time for those thoughts was past. With one last lingering glance over her shoulder, Leòwyn resolutely turned her gaze forward and leaned to rest her cheek against Theodred's broad back. Her arms wrapped securely around his mid-section, keeping her firmly seated on Shadowfax who was galloping at an alarming speed.

Her thoughts warred with one another over her decision. She was nervous and apprehensive about venturing into a world she had never experienced before, but a small portion of her was thrilled. Mostly, she realized that she was bound to the fate of the man in front of her and her emotions be damned about it. She didn't know how she felt about having the choice of who was important to her taken from her. That the Valar had chosen well filtered into her thoughts. There was nothing she had seen in Théodred that she did not approve of. She knew her mother would have approved as well. Théodred was exactly the type of man her mother would have wished for her. Well, possibly not the profession he was in. She would have preferred a less dangerous occupation, such as a horse breeder or farmer but Leowyn would have to disagree with her mother on this.

Théodred's prowess as a fighter was one of things Leòwyn admired about him. She had been terrified the entirety of her altercation with the orcs that had chased her into the Battle of the Fords. She even considered her killing of one of them to be luck. She had never been trained to fight, only to heal and to hunt for her meat. To be able to fight creatures such as those knowingly and with skill was daunting and churned fear in her gut. She had never felt safer in her life than when Théodred was by her side.

As if he could sense her tumultuous thoughts, Théodred lightly squeezed one of her forearms resting on his stomach, his thumb rubbing circles on her hand. Leòwyn focused her eyes upward slightly as he cast a glance at her. She smiled but she was sure it looked more like a grimace from the way his eyebrows drew together into a frown. Leòwyn sighed slightly, her breath creating small wisps of mist in from of her face. The chill of the mornings had lessened and now smelled distinctly of budding spring. Winter had released its icy grip on the Northern Realm of Rohan. Théodred had turned back to face Shadowfax's surging head but his warm grip continued to anchor Leòwyn as her thoughts continued to wander. Soon enough she could feel herself nodding off as her torn mind begged for darkness.

When she awoke, Leòwyn was aware of the stiffness of her limbs and the aching muscles in her back from having been perched on a horse for longer than she can ever remember having done before. With a small groan she shifted her head off Théodred's back and noticed that the sky was beginning to darken in the east.

Over the wind she heard, "Leòwyn, are you well?" Théodred's voice barely carried over the rattle of Shadowfax's hooves and the wind boxing in her ears.

Her elvish ears caught it well enough. In reply she squeezed her arms slightly. Théodred chanced a glance back at her and noted her sleep glazed eyes and slightly wild hair. Strands of chocolate danced around her head as they had come loose from her long braid. He sent her a smile.

"We are going to stop for the night soon. Shadowfax has slowed over the last candle mark. I cannot read him as you do but he might have a place for us to rest safely," Théodred all but shouted. She nodded to signal she had heard him, and he turned back around. He was correct it seemed to Leòwyn as she could feel the long strides of the _Mearas_ begin to shorten as the great beast slowed to a trot.

Leaning to get a look around Théodred's bulk, Leòwyn spotted a knotting of trees not far in the distance. She guessed another candles mark at the pace they were setting now. She could hardly believe they had been traveling since sunrise and the great horse beneath her had not slowed until now. Shaking her head at the wonders of the world she had barely begun to see, Leòwyn dully noted that her legs were a lot more cramped than even her back. With a grimace she began to massage the parts of her legs she could reach without toppling off Shadowfax and into the dirt very far below her. Leòwyn hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself by falling off when they came to a stop.

As the clump of trees swam into view and the sun dipped below the horizon, Shadowfax halted at the very edge of the outcropping. The large white horse shook his mighty head with a huff. Théodred assumed that meant it was time to rest and carefully slide off the large horses back. He made sure not to jostle Leòwyn much as he did not want her falling from such a height. With a grunt of pain Théodred landed and felt tingling pain shoot through his shins and up to his still healing chest wound. Brushing the pain aside with practiced ease he reached up and grasped Leòwyn around the waist gently.

"Ready?" Théodred asked. He received a nod in return and swung her light body from Shadowfax's back and into his arms. Her feet had barely touched the ground before his lips had descended on hers. He hadn't been able to kiss her all day and the urge to do so had about driven him crazy as he felt her body relax against him as she slept.

Leòwyn smiled against his mouth before molding herself into his arms. She marveled at how they fit together so perfectly. They soon broke apart and with a cheeky smile Théodred drew their packs off of Shadowfax's back and onto the ground. He dug around for flint and steel to start a fire with. He then stalked off into the trees, his sword swinging around his hip, to collect firewood. Théodred did not worry for Leòwyn's safety, even being out in the plains as they were. Shadowfax was a being of magic, he had complete confidence that the horse would not have placed them in danger.

Leòwyn hummed to herself, a soft melody with a lively beat, as she set up their bedrolls and withdrew some of the dried provisions they had brought from her meadow. It would make a fine stew tonight with the water from one of their skins. Once she had completed those tasks, and Théodred had returned with enough firewood to feed a large fire overnight Leòwyn stood and walked to where the Mearas was currently munching on a new spring grass.

As she approached the large stallion raised his head and nickered, taking two steps to close the gap between them. Leòwyn raised a hand to cup the bony jawline of one of her mothers most steadfast companions. "Thank you, my friend. You have brought us far with speed. Would you like a cleaning tonight?"

The giant horse tossed his head excitedly as Leòwyn laughed. The sound of her laughter brought Théodred over with a smile on his face.

"What has got you so joyful, Leowyn?"

The way he said her name in his deep voice caused the hair on her arms to stand at attention. A flush stole through her body. She was beginning to come to expect her body to react to his presence.

Leòwyn smiled widely, "I am going to rub down Shadowfax, he has done a lot for us today and will again on the morrow."

Théodred hummed agreeably, "Lucky horse."

With a wink that brought a dusting of color to her cheeks, the warrior turned back to the fire and could be seen working on the evening meal. Leòwyn watched him move about the campfire, looking for any signs that his chest was causing him any discomfort but the only thing she saw was the deeply rooted ease in which he adjusted to living under the stars once more. With a soft smile she turned back to the patiently waiting horse. Scouting out a few potential resources, Leòwyn ducked under a tree and brought forth a handful of large leaves.

As she rubbed Shadowfax's back clean of dust and dried sweat, Leòwyn once again allowed her mind to wander. She thought once more of her meadow and of Oaken Grandfather. The large tree had sheltered her entire life and she had never considered happiness elsewhere. Until she had met him. A smile stole across her face as her thoughts turned to the man who had captured her heart and who was currently making a racket trying to cook their meal. Honestly, Orcs were probably quieter. Leòwyn shook her head in humor.

Finishing her task, Leòwyn patted Shadowfax's neck once more before heading towards the fire. She stopped at the edge of the ring of light and observed Théodred as he casually stirred the now boiling pot of stew. She flashed back to yesterday and marveled at this man.

She could not believe that he returned her feelings. They had developed slowly out of the bond the Valar had created between them as patient and healer. She had found in him a kindred soul. One who loved the outdoors, preferred to laughter to silence, and seemed to understand even her most irrational thoughts.

She had thought to bury them her budding feelings and never think about them again once he had left her meadow. Afterall, he was the Crown Prince of her realm and she was but a common healer. She gave no thought to her own lineage on her mother's side for as far as she was concerned, her mother's family wanted nothing to do with her.

But then he had asked her to accompany him and she found herself with only one choice. The only choice her heart would allow. In the span of two days her life had turned on its head. Without him to anchor her she feared losing herself in this new world.

So, she watched him. The man was handsome enough to be unsettling. With his dirty blonde hair that flowed past his shoulders, thick eyebrows, a stern jaw, and eyes that could melt steel with their fierceness, he looked every part the soldier she knew he was. Her eyes softened at the knowledge that he was also kind and caring. She wouldn't have guessed that his calloused hands could be so gentle when they touched her or that his lips would be so soft.

"Are you going to stand there all night or would you like to come eat with me?" Théodred's voice jolted her out of her train of thought. He was staring across the fire at her silhouette with a glint in his eye. She also appreciated his sense of humor.

"That depends on if my lord knows how to cook?" Her quick response had him chuckling as she stepped around the fire and took a seat close to his side. His arm quickly brought her closer until she was pressed against his side and pleasantly warm against the plain's cool night breeze.

Théodred placed a chaste kiss on the side of her head before ladling out two full bowls of stew. The smell was enough to cause Leowyn's stomach to rumble loudly. Théodred snorted around his first spoonful of food in response. With a sharp smirk Leòwyn bumped him before setting her entire focus on the meal in front of her. She hadn't eaten since breakfast before dawn and quickly scarfed down two bowls before her stomach screamed at her to stop.

Finishing her meal and placing the bowl next to her, Leowyn looked over to find Théodred also done with his meal and watching her with a bemused smile on his lips. The look in his eye started a fire in her center.

Leòwyn blushed slightly but boldly stared into his eyes. She marveled at her new found confidence. She would not shy away from him ever again. She would be his equal if she could manage it.

Théodred's grin widened in response and he opened his arms. She instantly crawled into his lap, her legs swung over his sideways and her head resting just below his chin. She breathed in deeply, letting his scent lull her into a calm. Her heart was still beating out of her chest being so close to Théodred but as his arms tightened around her and the warmth of a full meal in her stomach, Leòwyn allowed her sore body to relax.

"We should have another hard day's ride ahead of us and we will reach Helm's Deep before nightfall tomorrow," Théodred's voice came from above her.

"Is that where your father is?" Leòwyn asked. She knew that Théodred needed to find the King. He had likely been declared killed and given a burial. His arrival, very much alive, would be the cause of much shock and hopefully joy.

"I do not know. When I last saw my father he was unwell. A sickness of the mind plagued him, and his rat of a councilor, Grima, was always to be found speaking poison into his ear," Théodred said darkly. His right hand began to idly play with the strands of her long hair that trailed in curls down her back.

Leòwyn wiggled in his lap until he loosened his hold and sat up between his legs. She wanted to see his face. His dark eyebrows were drawn together as she knew they would be and his face set into a scowl. She set her palm against his stubbled jaw and set her jaw.

"Whatever happens, I am with you," She whispered, caught in his gaze. His honey colored eyes seemed to drill into her soul. They pierced through her for a moment more before a beautiful smile transformed his face.

"I do not know how I lived without you before this," Théodred spoke in equally low tones. "It seems as if I have known you forever and yet only for a day. I will never tire of looking upon your face. I will never find happiness where you are not."

Leòwyn sighed and returned his smile. She had not voiced those same sentiments out loud but now that he had confirmed them, she put her thoughts into words that mirrored his. They spent precious moments exchanging pretty words and soft kisses before they once more settled into a position that had Leòwyn acting as the Prince's blanket. She could hardly find reason to complain. Her heart had never been fuller but for the absence of her mother, but even the knowledge of her death did not sting so sharply this night.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a while longer before Leòwynfelt Théodred shift beneath her. "We should find some rest. It's been a while since I have ridden all day, I should think we will both feel the strain tomorrow." She nodded.

"Before we do, how is you chest?" She felt Théodred shrug around her.

"It is a dull ache, but one easily ignored and the stitches have fully disappeared," he replied.

Théodred had been rattled when he had heard about the nature of the stitches that kept his chest together. Never before had he had stitches that would dissolve into his own body once it was time. As the first strands had started to unravel, he had been awed at the scar left behind. It was still red and puckered and would lead to many tales but it had hurt less than any scar he had on his body previously. It also did not restrict his movement as he had expected.

Leòwyn nodded against his chest and did not press him further. She had never been the type of healer to coddle a patient. Once the major healing was past, she believed that movement was the only cure for the weakness and lasting pain wounds left behind.

Théodred shifted once more and helped stand Leowyn on her feet. She grimaced slightly the ache intensified in her legs and back. Ridding on a horse all day, even once as smooth gated as Shadowfax, was a painful experience. They both withdrew to the bedrolls Leòwyn had laid out during set-up and wrapped in Théodred's arms she dropped into a deep sleep.

"Leowyn, it's time to begin the day," a deep male voice spoke close to her as a hand smoothed some hairs back from her forehead. She cracked open her eyes to see that the sky had only begun to lighten. Théodred had already dressed and made food from the delicious smells she could almost taste wafting from the fire.

With a groan, Leowyn levered herself into a sitting position and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Théodred kissed her forehead and moved back to tend the fire.

Her body ached all over and she thought she had never been more aware of the small muscles in her legs. She grabbed her subtle leather boots and jerked them on in a half daze before standing to follow Theodred.

As soon as she had taken a seat, the man handed her a bowl of left-over stew from last night and a chunk of stale bread. She whispered her thanks and ate quickly. They spoke little as they both finished their meals and packed the remainder of their belongings in the saddlebags once more. Théodred strapped his broad sword to his waist. Leòwyn hunting knife went on hers. When all had been set to rights, Leòwyn let out a piercing whistle that echoed in the small standing of trees.

With a loud whiny, Shadowfax appeared galloping gracefully across the plains. She couldn't help but marvel at the majesty of this animal. The King among horses reached them in a handful of strides and approached Leòwyn with his head lowered. She brought a hand up to rest between his eyes.

"Hello dear one. Will you carry us once more?" Leòwyn smiled as the large stallion bobbed his head and turned to show them his back. She turned her head to look at the man beside her. He seemed lost in thought, a small frown marring his visage, hands grasping the full saddlebags like a lifeline.

"What is it?" She questioned, angling her body towards his. Her head barely reached his collarbone, so she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his gaze. Hazel eyes met sky blue.

Théodred smiled slightly and shook his head. "I fear old worries are plaguing me once more. I had almost forgotten my life outside your meadow. Being out in the plains and feeling the burden of my people fall again on my shoulders has soured my mood. Forgive me."

She could not fault him for those thoughts. Her meadow had brought her a peaceful existence most of her life. Leòwyn knew he did not want her pity, so she shook her head instead even as her heart beat unevenly at the thought of what horrors lie in wait for them and for Middle Earth.

"It is no use to worry when all of our futures are decided by the Valar, Théodred. My mother used to tell me that all we can do is believe that they protect us and send thanks when we can. You were saved by the Valar once, I see no reason to doubt their judgment now."

Théodred grunted as she playfully poked him in the ribs, trying to lighten the dark storm clouds over his brow. How could he stay unhappy when such a woman was beaming at him, eyes sparkling with laughter. He shook his head ruefully at her, but she could see the hint of a grin on the corner of his mouth as he moved to place the saddlebags on Shadowfax's back.

Looking once more to the stallion waiting patiently for his riders to join him, Leòwyn grumbled under her breath at the thought of riding another full day. She sighed as she allowed Théodred to lift her up onto the towering horse. He followed her quickly, this time placing Leòwyn in front of him, cradled by his legs and kept safe in his arms. As soon as he had settled, he gave a sharp command to the horse underneath them and they sped away like an arrow from a bow, clumps of ground thrown in the air behind them.

Leòwyn felt her muscles tense immediately but swiftly urged them to calm. She would not make this journey with her muscles screaming like that for long. She hesitantly relaxed, placing her back against Théodred's chest. She did not want to possibly hurt his still healing wound or place added discomfort on him. Her worries were unfounded it seemed, for as soon as she relaxed against him, Theodred wound one arm around her waist to keep her securely pinned to him. Leòwyn couldn't stop the smile that etched itself across her face. Even atop a racing horse she felt safe.

The two travelers and one mythical stallion only rested for a brief period during mid-day. They allowed Shadowfax to graze and replenished their skins by a small stream before moving once more. Leòwyn had spent most of the day trying to ignore the growing ache in her muscles and staring at the beauty around her. She had never seen such wide-open ground. The plains of Rohan stretched across the horizon, peppered with large outcroppings of rock and sparse trees.

Once more they took to the back of Shadowfax and surged towards their destination.

Théodred leaned down to whisper in her ear, "What do you think of my country?"

The feeling of his breath on her skin caused a shiver to run through her. She knew even Théodred had felt it as his arm wrapped her in a tighter embrace.

"It is beautiful," she replied loudly, enough to be heard over the rushing wind. A squeeze around her midsection was all the reply she got. She knew he was pleased with her assessment from the content feeling she got through their mental bond. Leòwyn still did not know if Théodred could feel their connection as strongly as she could. She could feel certain strong emotions if they were touching and seemed to always know where he was in relation to her.

For a while longer, she pondered whether to broach the subject with Théodred. She knew how he felt about her but she hesitated. What if he assumed the only reason he had feelings for her was because of this connection gifted by the Valar? She could not bear the thought of the pain losing him might cause. But she also did not want to keep something so important from him. Leòwyn sat in her unease and hadn't made a decision by the time she was jostled out of her own mind by a steep dip in the ground beneath Shadofax's hooves.

Looking around and clearing her thoughts, Leòwyn noticed that the sun was well into the afternoon. In the distance she could see a steep mountain chain and they were beginning to enter the deep valley before it. Something else caught her notice and she sat straighter in her seat to try and discern what the dark, moving objects were.

"What do you see, Leòwyn?" Théodred's voice shouted over the thundering of Shadofax's hooves. With a slight twist of the mane in his hands, he urged Shadowfax into a trot. Whatever the shapes ahead of them were, it would not be wise to stampede into their midst unaware.

"I see multiple shapes, some of horses and some of men. There are wagons as well. Most are on foot and seem to be running." Leòwyn spoke, turning her head slightly to be heard better but keeping her keen eyes locked on the group a few leagues ahead of them.

"Do they look to be of the race of men?" Théodred asked.

With a confirming nod, "Most are women and children from the looks of it. Many look elderly. Those are not the gaits of orcs or any other evil beast I have seen."

"They must be refugees heading towards the Hornburg. The East Mark has been slowly overrun by foul beasts in recent years, all are amassing behind the deeping wall for safety," Théodred's voice rumbled around her. She could feel his anger and frustration.

With a powerful kick, Shadowfax surged forward into a gallop once more. Judging the distance between the slowly moving caravan and the fortress she could start to see clearly carved from the very stone of the mountain, Leòwyn suspected they would arrive at the gates around the same time as the other fleeing refugees.

As their pace ate up the leagues, Leòwyn felt an emotion she recognized as apprehension twist her insides. She was no longer alone with Théodred, she would now be surrounded by people that knew him as the Crown Prince and would expect things of him. She had never been in a crowd as big as that caravan she was watching the progress of and it made her heart lurch in an unpleasant way. What if she was too different? She had never socialized with others because of her secluded upbringing. She was raised by only her mother. What is they did not accept her? Self-deprecating thoughts began to swirl in her head, and she felt her body tensing in response. Her abused muscles screamed.

Théodred seemed to be able to sense her darkening mood as well for he tightened his arms around her in wordless support and even place a kiss behind one of her slightly pointed ears. Leowyn couldn't help the small smile that claimed her face. She was still tense but felt more reassured by Théodred's presence at her back.

The caravan was now visible to not only her but also to the man seated behind her and to the horse below her. Both seemed to be of the mind of speed over safety and they were speeding faster than before if possible. The massive stone structure known as Helm's Deep reared impossibly tall over their heads and they reached the end of the caravan's line and joined the back of it as it entered the stone walls.

Leòwyn could not keep her mouth from hanging open at the sheer might of men that constructed such a fortress. In her wildest imaginations she had never considered that men had the capability to carve out a mountain. She had heard tales of the prowess of Dwarves when it came to stone carving but not of men. The dark stone and towering walls gave the impression of brute strength and the impenetrability of Rohan's defenses. Leowyn was all together awed and slightly unnerved as Shadowfax paced past guards in stained leather, holding fiercely sharp spears.

Leòwyn noticed the whisperings almost as soon as the gates closed behind the last straggler. As Théodred guided the _Mearas_ past wagons and groupings of people that seemed to make the large space very small, a distinctly feminine shout caught everyone's attention in the square. The shout had come from the top of the stairs on their left, where a woman wearing a deep green dress was standing with one hand pressed to her stomach, the other to her lips. Her startling blue eyes were wide and her skin pale as if she had seen a ghost.

For the first time, Leòwyn noticed that seated on the back of Shadowfax was the tallest vantage point she could possibly get surrounded by so many bodies. She was grateful for the height for she surely did not know how to react if pressed in from all sides. She brought her attention back to the beautiful woman who had flown down the stairs as if on air. Leowyn watched as the crowd parted for her and how her pale blonde hair swished in the wind made by her passage. If she hadn't known better, Leòwyn would have thought she was of the race of Elves and not men.

The woman halted on the left side of Shadowfax, one hand outstretched and her eyes glued to the man seated behind her. Leòwyn once more felt the oppressive weight of uncountable eyes. The square was eerily quiet. She felt Théodred shift behind her and had to grip the _Mearas_ mane in front of her to stop her own body from sliding off with his. With a soft thud his booted feet hit the ground and there was a hush before the pale haired woman let out a high-pitched screech and flung herself at Théodred. He caught her and spun her around with a loud, booming laugh.

For a moment, the crowd watched with weighted eyes before the entire square filled with so much noise, Leòwyn had to press her hands to her sensitive ears. There was cheering and crying and loud roars from the few soldiers littered about the common area.

As the cheering died off and her ears adjusted to the noise, Leòwyn was able to pull her hands from her head. Théodred and the woman were speaking rapidly, almost too fast for Leòwyn to follow but she caught words such as _dead, miracle,_ and surprisingly enough _Gandalf._

She shook her head slightly. Of course, the old wizard was about somewhere. He was always in the midst of trouble and Leowyn was astute enough to pick up on the fact that Helm's Deep was an epicenter for trouble.

A cough to her left and a gentle hand on her thigh had her turning her attention back to Théodred and the elf-woman as she had now dubbed her. Her ice blue eyes scanned over the woman quickly before landing on Theodred. As her eyes met his, Théodred reached up his arms and gripped her by the waist. He waited for her nod before he heaved her down from the tall back of Shadowfax. Her feet touched the ground and she tilted her head upwards to catch his eye with a small, tight smile. He frowned momentarily at the tension he could feel in her lithe body under his hands.

"Leòwyn, this is Eowyn," he addressed her, "my cousin, and the White Lady of Rohan. Eowyn, this is Leòwyn, daughter of Lilithien." His hands fell to his sides and she instantly felt their loss.

Leòwyn moved her attention to the beautiful blonde in front of her and gave an unpracticed curtsy. "It is a pleasure to meet Théodred's kin." She sent a small but genuine smile at Eowyn.

For her part Eowyn looked to be assessing the woman currently standing closer than appropriate to her cousin. Eye flickering from her worn leather boots to the mess of braids that was her windblown hair, Eowyn noted everything. Eowyn acknowledged that this woman was an uncommon beauty. Any half-blind man could see that this woman had looks that were as commonplace as a Gondorian on the plains of Rohan. With dark brown hair that glinted chestnut in certain lighting, round pink lips, and slanting blue eyes that were even more shocking than her own, Leowyn was breathtaking even in her mud splattered travel clothes. She was almost too fair to be of the race of men but Eowyn put that out of her head. For now.

Her beauty did not explain the slightly protective stance of her cousin towards the young woman or how they both seemed to lean towards one another even with the small space left between them. Vowing to continue her observations later, Eowyn nodded to her cousins dark haired traveling companion and spoke, "You two must weary. Please come with me and we will find you some food and perhaps a bath before you regale us with your tale."

Théodred and Leòwyn exchanged a quick glance before Théodred turned back to Shadowfax and unburdened him of their possessions. As soon as the saddlebags had been removed from his back, the_ Mearas_ gave a shockingly loud whiny and turned on his hind legs in a neat move that centered him back towards the closed gate. The guards barely opened it before Shadowfax burst from under the stone bridgeway, but the mighty horse had given no sign of slowing. Leòwyn almost believed that he would have burst right through the thick wooden door if it had not opened in time.

Théodred turned and began to follow Eowyn, saddlebags thrown over one shoulder. As he passed her, he quickly grabbed her hand and pulled him level with her to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright, my love? I know this is all new and frankly not even I expected such an audience when reuniting with my family."

Leòwyn looked down at their intertwined hands and nodded. "I have never seen so many people in one place in my life, but as long as I am with you, I am fine." She smiled as her words caused a large, toothy grin to alight Théodred's face. He brought her hand, the one clasped in his, to his lips, his beard tickling the back of it as he kissed it.

They both quickly walked up the stairs, following in the wake of the White Lady of Rohan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Leòwyn clung tightly to Théodred's rough hand as they entered the keep. Her mind was lagging behind in processing all that was occurring. Dimly she noted that as they passed, many people stopped to gawk and many more hurried to bow or curtsy before the Royal family. Leòwyn noted how out of place she felt in that very moment before they halted just inside the main hall whose doors had been flung open by two enthusiastic guards. Her ears were still ringing with their loud greetings.

Eòwyn turned neatly back towards the two worn travelers, "Uncle should be arriving soon. There was an attack on the road." Her elegant features contorted into a mask of irritation and fear. She motioned for a servant to bring over stew and bread for them as they all sat themselves at a long wooden table. Théodred dumped the saddlebags with their belongings at his side.

She felt Théodred tense next to her. "Is he well?"

Eòwyn smiled and let out a breathy laugh, "I hardly believe it myself but Mithrandir arrived and cast out Grima. It was a miracle I never hoped to see but he is once again the King he was before."

Théodred gave a shuddering sigh before standing and engulfing Eòwyn in another strong embrace. They laughed quietly together and Leòwyn could see tears in both of their eyes. She couldn't help the smile that transformed her face. She was happy for them and for the people of Rohan who deserved a capable King.

Her mind wandered once more as she gazed around at the dark stone walls and felt a chill creep into her limbs. This place was haunted by the past that much she knew. Though what did the haunting was still a mystery to her.

A bowl of hearty stew and thick bread were placed before her as Théodred sat down next to her once more. They both took a few bites of their food before Théodred spoke.

"What of this attack?" Théodred's voice wretched her back to the present. She had been consumed by the delicious meal before her, all her thoughts on not shoving it into her mouth like a savage even though she wished to. She brought her focus back to the two cousins slightly in front of her and could feel her muscles tense in response to the aggressive tone in his baritone.

"Warg pack. They were not too many in number but Uncle took as many warriors as he could spare to meet them before they reached the women and children," Eòwyn said. Leòwyn cocked her head as she noted an undertone that almost sounded like derision. Surely Eowyn was glad to be away from such beasts.

"They are getting bolder, to attack in daylight and with warriors on guard," He replied. Eòwyn gave a noncommittal shrug. He took a large bite of stew and ripped a chunk out of his loaf.

Théodred seemed to remember that Leòwyn was still there. His apologetic glance, around a mouthful of food, earned him a small shake of her head and a light hearted smile. He always found a way to make her laugh and she did not need him to worry over her. Not when there were other things that should consume his thoughts. Still, he did not seem satisfied until their hands were intertwined once more. Leòwyn noticed that Eòwyn watched both of their movements like a predator eyeing prey. It was unsettling to say the least.

Théodred gave her hand a squeeze as he too noticed his cousin's rapt attention before a commotion outside drew all their gazes. Shouts from the courtyard below and the pounding of horse hooves confirmed Leowyn's suspicions and sent her barely settled nerves aflutter.

"That will be Uncle returning. Come cousin, he will want to see you in the flesh with his own eyes," Eòwyn glided towards the outside stairs once more.

Théodred followed her quickly, making Leòwyn jog to prevent him from wrenching her arm. She almost wanted to release his hand so that she could step to the side and blend in with the shadows but she knew he would not let her be separated from him. All the attention she had been subject to thus far was going to be nothing compared to meeting the King of Rohan himself, and the love of her life's father. His father, who might very well not approve of a lowly woman such as herself capturing his son's heart.

With a nervous swallow she allowed herself to be pulled along, down the stone steps they had climbed only moments before to stand where Eòwyn had stood during their arrival. She drew level on Théodred's left and waited with bated breath as riders and horses flooded into the packed square once more.

From her vantage she could see many wounded and felt her _Fea_ react to the smell of death. She could at least help with this. With a determine nod, she told herself she would search out the healing ward as soon as she could.

Her eyes singled out a man with shoulder length dark blonde hair, similar to Théodred's and who rode his horse with the proud bearing she had seen reflected in his son. Leòwyn knew without asking that this was Théoden King. He was shouting orders to the men, directing wounded to the lower levels, and had not yet looked up to the stairs where his heir, thought dead, stood.

As men began to rush off to their assigned tasks, and others led the company's horses away, Théoden seemed to take a deep breath before turning to mount the stairs they were currently on. Leòwyn held her breath as she watched his head raise towards the peak and his eyes follow. She watched as his dark blue eyes locked onto their figures, skimming over her and Eòwyn to her left before resting on the tall, sandy colored head of Théodred. Leòwyn could feel the pulsing beat of his heart through their hands and her heart sang for him.

Confusion, pain, and shock crossed the King's face in rapid succession. His face settled on disbelief, his mouth hanging slightly open and his body frozen halfway up the staircase.

Théodred released her hand to move towards his father, taking the steps two at a time until they were both level with each other on one stair. Théoden King reached out with one hand and placed it on Théodred's chest, almost as if he had to convince himself that the body in front of him was in fact made of blood and bone. Leòwyn could see the appendage shaking.

With a quick flash both men were wrapped in each other's tight embrace. Théodred was taller than his father by a few inches but with both their heads buried in the opposite shoulder it was hard to tell. Leòwyn could feel the huge smile on her face and the tears gathered in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. This was a happy reunion after all. She felt the sting of loneliness as well as she would never be reunited with her mother.

Stifling a sniffle, she quickly wiped her eyes and turned her head, hoping no one had caught her moment of weakness. Her wishes were not to be as she caught the eye of the White Lady of Rohan on her left. The blue eyes of the woman had a strange look in them, almost as if she was someone to be distrusted but there was a definite softening than when they had first arrived.

Leòwyn averted her gaze quickly, a small blush heating up her face. She did not want to dwell on what Eòwyn thought of her or her relationship with Théodred that had yet to be recognized.

Bringing her attention back to the two men who had pulled back from their embrace to marvel at each other. Théoden King had his hand gently resting on his son's face and both were speaking in low tones, tears evident in their eyes. Like Leòwyn they did not allow them to fall but the unbridled happiness in their postures was enough to send the crowd around them into further clamor.

The noise was deafening and Leòwyn wondered how she had not realized it sooner. Even the poorest looking pauper was shouting out joyful tidings. Her ears seemed to have a constant ringing and she sincerely hoped she had not started to go deaf. She had never heard such noise in all her years. With a grimace she placed her hands over her ears lightly until she felt a soft touch on her arm. She turned to her left and saw Eòwyn looking at her with a slight frown. Was that worry in her gaze?

Eòwyn motioned with her head back towards the hall and Leòwyn understood what she was saying. With a grateful smile, Leòwyn ascended the stairs to the hall once more and as she heard the large doors shut behind her she sighed and removed her hands from cupping her ears. Most of the cheering was now blocked and it gave her poor eardrums a much needed relief.

The hall was eerily quiet compared to the racket outside but there was a sort of peace in the silence. Leòwyn strode over to where she had been sitting before and sat to finish the rest of her meal. The stew was almost cold but the bread was still deliciously soft and she was starving. She had eaten much worse so this was no burden. As she ate she contemplating the journey she had undertaken.

With a loud bang, the doors to the Great Hall were thrust open. Leòwyn jumped mightily and she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Leòwyn stood quickly and stepped to the side of the hall.

A whisper of a breeze to her right had her eyes snapping to follow the movement of a simmering form she knew only she could see. The part-elf almost smiled. She had been right, the keep of Helm's Deep was haunted. Distinctive features were hard to make out in this particular ghoul, signaling its old age, but Leòwyn got a distinctly feminine feeling from it.

Leòwyn had never found it odd that she could see those that had passed on. Her mother had possessed such a gift as well and had taught Leòwyn from a small age how to interact with those beings. Her keen eyes tracked the passage of the spirit as it meandered its way through the large cavernous room until it passed through the far wall. Leowyn became aware of someone calling her name.

With a jerk of her head she focused on Théodred who was standing in front of her, her name on his lips. She wondered how she had not noticed how close he had gotten. He raised his hand to grip her forearm lightly. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Today has been a lot to take in." Leòwyn replied. Théodred nodded, sympathy in his gaze.

"My father wishes to meet you." He said.

Leòwyn had expected this, if not so soon. She nodded and allowed him to take her hand and place it in the crook of his arm before turning and escorting her to the front of the room. She noted the small group of burly men and at their center was the King himself. They seemed to be arguing about something but quickly hushed as Théodred approached with her.

Bringing them to a stop, Théodred motioned with his free hand to her, "Father, this is Leòwyn, daughter of Lilithien. She is the healer that found me at the Fords and saved my life."

Leòwyn felt the weight of the Kings gaze as it rested on her. He did much the same as his niece had done, eyes flickering from her shoes to her hair. A tense silence descended on the small group. Whatever judgment he came to it was a good one for he stepped forward with a large smile and stooped to give her a fierce hug. Leòwyn froze, shocked at the display of emotion from a stranger. She awkwardly patted him on the back as he pulled back with a grin. His grin reminded her of his son's. Their facial structure was very similar but while Théodred has hazel eyes, his fathers were a dark blue like the sky before a storm.

Meeting his eyes Leòwyn couldn't help the small smile that bloomed on her face in response. His eyes shined with gratitude and a small glint of humor as if he knew how unexpected his embrace had been. Her smile turned gamely and she winked. Idly she wondered at her own boldness in her mind. With a booming laugh, Théoden beamed at her before speaking. The laugh lines on his face seemed natural and she realized that his stern visage that she had seen earlier was merely a product of the times. This man was more attuned to smiles and laughter.

"I appreciate your ability to humor an old man. I owe you a large debt Lady Leòwyn. I doubt I will ever be able to repay it, for you have given me back my only son and heir. If you should need anything please come directly to me," The King's strong voice reminded her of his son's. It was pleasant to her ears but did not invoke the same reaction Théodred's did for which she was thankful.

"Thank you, your Majesty," Leòwyn curtsied, her arm still in Théodred's arm making it more awkward than normal. Théodred grinned at her when she shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye.

She brought her face around to directly gaze at him as she caught the look of mischief in his eyes. That was never a good sign in her experience. Leòwyn frowned and opened her mouth to stop him but Théodred was too fast.

His voice tinged with humor but with an undertone of something that made her fight a blush, Théodred addressed his father. "My Lord, there is one more matter I wish to bring your attention to."

At a nod from the King, Théodred continued, "I would like your permission to court this woman."

Leòwyn gasped audibly, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the man she loved. This man would be the death of her.

Théoden King frowned heavily and looked at both of them for a long minute. "You know what you ask Théodred. This is a big decision, not only for you but for our people. It is not one I take lightly. Perhaps now is not the right time."

Théodred's smile stayed fixed on his face but it turned brittle. "Father, let me be clear. I am asking for the sake of tradition. I intend to take this woman as my wife with or without your blessing. As for timing, there might not be another time. We both know what is happening in Middle Earth."

Théoden King stared at his heir for a moment longer before turning once more to Leòwyn. "My Lady, it seems my son has made up his mind about this and having just got him back I am loathe to deny him anything. Do you accept his courtship?" Her head snapped back to the King as he addressed her and that was the only movement her body seemed capable of.

Leòwyn stood unmoving, her knees locked. Her ears were once more ringing and her head felt fuzzy. Was this truly happening? Was she truly allowed this happiness? Leòwyn had expected a much bigger fight.

Théodred turned to her fully when she made no response. Leòwyn desperately caught his eyes. She saw them communicating the same thing she saw in his eyes whenever he looked at her. There was a warmth that turned his eyes to molten honey, and so much love she thought her heart would stop. He stepped closer forcing her to tilt her head back and his hand came to cradle the back of her neck. His thumb rubbed circles into the soft skin beneath her ear.

With a strangled gasp, her eyes quickly filling with tears once more, Leòwyn nodded rapidly. Her hand came up to cover her mouth in an effort to stem the soft sobs that were coming out.

Théodred's grin came back full force and he wrapped her in his arms as her body shook with soft sobs. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear and rocked her side to side as she calmed down. She melted into his arms and took comfort from his musky sent. The back of her mind supplied that he needed to bathe but she knew she did as well.

Someone cleared their throat, drawing attention back to the King. Leòwyn quickly wiped the tears from her face as she unburied her head from Théodred's chest and tried to make her travel worn self, presentable once more. Théodred took a half step back, but still kept his arm wrapped around her shaking shoulders.

Leòwyn noticed that the warriors previously surrounding the King has departed and Théoden stood alone, a small smile lingering on his lips as he watched them.

"I can see the love between you. It is not my wish to keep any small happiness from those that can grasp it in these dire times," He spoke softly, "There is war coming, and that is for certain. With that in mind, I will approve a wedding with all haste but know that it will not be a grand affair that is tradition. We just don't have the time I fear."

Leòwyn just nodded quickly once more as Théodred murmured his acceptance. Neither wanted a large ceremony or grand gestures. They were content with just each other.

Théoden King nodded and waved them away, calling for his war council once more. Théodred drew her to the other side of the hall before halting and calling to someone behind her back. The willowy form of Eòwyn appeared by their side, her face wide in a smile but her eyes were shadowed. When her eyes caught Leòwyn's they both shared a smile before Théodred drew their attention.

"Eòwyn, will you take Leòwyn to her room and allow her to get cleaned and rest from our journey? I will attend Father." Théodred asked.

As Eòwyn nodded her assent, Théodred turned to Leòwyn, hands cupping her head on both sides. "Go get cleaned up and rest. I will join you soon."

Leòwyn nodded as well. Théodred leaned down to place a quick kiss on her lips, long enough for her to miss their warmth when he pulled away and moved off to join the band of soldiers surrounding a stone table in the middle of the hall. She watched him retreat before turning her attention to the woman at her side. Not for the first time, Leòwyn noticed Eòwyn's grief filled eyes. Their eyes met and Leòwyn watched as ice entered her gaze, emotions fleeing behind a carefully erected mask.

"Come. I had the servants draw a bath for you and your possessions have been brought to your room," As Eòwyn spoke she took off towards a side tunnel off the main hall with quick strides. Leòwyn had to lengthen her normal stride to keep up with her pace. They did little speaking as they passed other smaller room and once crossed a balcony that curved out from the mountain and then once more back into the bedrock.

Eòwyn slowed only once they reached a long hallway that seemed to only hold a multitude of doorways on either side. "This is the family wing of the Deep. This is where honored guests and the Royal family stay when here. This is your room." They stopped in front of a large carved stone door. With a push, it swung inward on oiled hinges almost soundlessly. Leòwyn was impressed with the craftsmanship.

Eòwyn waited for Leòwyn to step inside for following, leaving the door ajar. "The bath is waiting for you in the alcove to your right. There should be soap and a brush for your hair. I will have the servants bring one of my old dresses, you are about the size I was a few years ago. I have filled out slightly but it should fit you well enough for now. Ring a servant should you need anything."

Eòwyn turned to leave. "My Lady.." Leòwyn hesitated. Eòwyn turned back, her eyes assessing the brunette. Gathering her courage Leòwyn continued, "I couldn't help but notice your pain. Is there anything I can do to help?" She clasped her hands together in front of her and held Eòwyn's gaze that had sharpened into something deadly at her question.

Eòwyn opened her mouth to reply before snapping it shut with a click of teeth. A harsh breath puffed from between her lips. She studied the other woman for a few second longer before her face crumbled and her eyes filled with tears. Leowyn rushed to the other woman, guiding her to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, keeping an arm across her shoulders.

"I didn't really know him that well but he was special. He was someone I could have come to love dearly," Eòwyn gasped out, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook silently. Leòwyn left her side momentarily to fetch a clay chalice of wine from table by the large bed, returning and urging Eòwyn to sip slowly.

"I am sorry for you loss, my lady," Leòwyn spoke softly, "If you wish to speak on it, I will listen."

Eòwyn sat, carefully sipping the wine and staring at the wall across from them before bringing her eyes to Leòwyn's face again. All she saw was concern and a small flash of sympathy. Good. Eòwyn did not need nor want anyone's pity but the sympathy she could see in Leòwyn's countenance reflected a grief similar to Eòwyn's own. So this woman had felt loss as well. That reassured her and soon she was telling the brunette all about Lord Aragorn. She laughed and cried at different points in her story and by the time she had finished her heart felt lighter.

Eòwyn looked at Leòwyn and smiled tentatively. She had been apprehensive about this strange woman her cousin had brought back with him. When she had heard the tale of how he had survived the Battle of the Fords and how this woman was involved she had felt grateful but still found it hard to trust the other woman. Now she was only grateful. For saving her family from further grief and for passing no judgment on Eowyn's pining for a spoken for man.

Leòwyn smiled back before standing and gathering the cup from Eòwyn's hands. She crossed the room and returned to the seats with two cups, each full of wine. As she sat she cautiously took a sip and noted that it was a good vintage, almost as good as the wine her mother used to make.

"So, you and Théodred?" Eòwyn asked, a question in her eyes.

Leòwyn's smile brightened as she thought of the Prince. She knew what Eòwyn was looking for and decided to be honest with the other woman.

"I did not expect this to happen when I found him," her faced pinched in a frown, "I did not know if my ability would be enough to save him in the beginning. The wound he bore was like none other I have ever treated. But he was strong enough to survive the blow and I knew he would be strong enough to fight for his life." She took a sip of her wine and fell silent before continuing.

"My fondness for him grew out of that. He understands me better than anyone. I hardly believed him when he said he returned my feelings," Leòwyn's voice grew breathy and her teeth shined in the firelight. "I will never love another."

She raised her eyes from her cup with a breathless giggle and met Eòwyn's eyes. The blonde beauty was smiling softly. She raised her mug in salute before downing the rest in a large gulp.

"I wish you eternal happiness," She whispered and stood to leave. "I am sorry for causing your bath to become cold, I will send servants with more hot water. You deserve it."

Leòwyn smiled and expressed her thanks.

"Call me Eòwyn, we are to be cousins are we not?" Eòwyn smiled, her grief still shadowing her eyes but Leòwyn could see it had lessened greatly.

She nodded her acceptance. "Then call me Leòwyn."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Leòwyn stirred sleepily and realized she had fallen asleep on the large, four poster bed sometime after her bath. She was wonderfully warm and had to resist the urge to fall back into a dreamless slumber. She noticed it was not yet full night but outside her door she could hear the stomping of boots as they rushed past the hallway. She calculated she had been asleep for less than two candle marks.

A spark of nervousness settled into her stomach as she heard shouted orders and the dull pounding of hundreds of people moving. She stood and dressed quickly in the spare dress Eowyn had delivered, now wide awake. The White Lady had been correct in her measurements. The dress fit like a glove, but with enough extra fabric to not make it too constrictive. It was also a beautiful dark blue that reflected her coloring well.

As she was pulling on her hard worn boots, a loud series of urgent knocks sounded on her door.

"Leòwyn?" Théodred's voice came muffled through the door. There was a deep worry in it that had Leowyn springing to unlock the bolt. Théodred's frowning face was the first thing she saw. He quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Grab your things, quickly. We need to get you into the caves with the others." Théodred said as he grabbed her bow and quiver from their resting place by the bed. Leòwyn scrambled to do as he said, her thoughts jumbled.

"The caves? What is happening Théodred?" She asked as she turned to face him, her hands full of the two saddlebags filled with her only belongings.

Théodred took the saddlebags from her arms, threw them over his shoulder, and faced her. His hand came up to rest in her still damp hair. "There is an army of orcs from Isengard, bearing the white hand of Saruman, marching against us as we speak. They will be here by nightfall."

Leòwyn couldn't stifle the gasp that escaped her lips as her face paled. "The white wizard has betrayed us?"

Théodred nodded, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every detail. "Lord Aragorn arrived with the news. They are ten thousand strong at least." His eyes looked bleak. Leòwyn suddenly needed his body touching hers and stepped closer. She wrapped her arms around his strong body and felt his arms return the gesture. She knew they had nowhere close to the enemies number in the Deep. She could feel the frantic pounding of his heart through their touching chests.

Leòwyn then remembered the name as the one of the man Eowyn said had been lost. She hoped her new friend was relieved that the report of his death was false then let the thought flee from her mind.

"What are we to do?" She asked quietly. She felt Théodred give a large sigh before leaning his head down on the top of her hair and breathing in deeply. He was silent for a moment longer.

"We will fight. We have a few advantages and the Deeping Wall has never been breached," he mumbled into her hair.

Leòwyn squeezed his torso before leaning back to look him in the eye. She could feel his worry and fear but realized that the fear was strangely directed at her. He did not fear for himself but for her. The thought lit a small fire in her.

"All men of age will be pulled to fight. Even those too young and too old, as most are," his eyes closed in pain before opening again. "The women and children are being sent to the caves. If we are defeated, there is a path I want you to take. I will show it to you but you must promise me you will take it. Without thought to me or others."

She stood straighter, her indignation reflected in her steel spine, "How could you ask that of me? You would sacrifice yourself for the safety of others but expect me to flee?" Her voice warmed in anger.

Théodred blew air out of his nose, his lips pinched in irritation. "I would have you live," He gritted.

Leòwyn's anger left her just as readily as it had come. She sighed, a hand reaching to his stubbled face, "There is no life to live without you."

Théodred's shoulders sagged and looked very much like the weight of the world was pressing them down. But he smiled at her and kissed her softly. "Promise me you will at least try to stay safe."

Leòwyn nodded slightly and patted her trusty hunting knife now strapped to her side with raised eyebrows, humor twinkling in her eyes. Théodred chuckled quietly before pulling his arms back. They both knew her hunting knife wouldn't provide much protection but that was what was funny about it.

"Let's get you to the caves. Eòwyn is making the preparations for the wounded and supplies in case this goes ill," Théodred grasped her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it before whisking them out of the door.

Théodred rushed them through the halls so quickly Leòwyn was lost almost as soon as they stepped out of her door. Instead of focusing on where their path led, she focused on keeping her feet moving and mentally assessing the conditions of the various healing supplies in her pack. If she was to be trapped in the caves when wounded began to retreat to the back, she would be ready to receive them. The healer in her would allow for no different.

Leòwyn could feel the air begin to get colder as they descended slick stairs worn from centuries of use. There was a damp feeling in the air and Leowyn felt the passing of spirits all around her. This castle was a lot older than she had first judged to be so packed with the essence of those who had yet to depart but no longer lived. Many people had died in this fortress. It gave the air a metallic quality that tickled her nose and burned the back of her throat.

When they finally arrived at the entrance to the caves, which looked to be more of a crack in the stone than much else, Théodred motioned for her to squeeze through first. Once she was in the recess between the outer hallway and the caves she noticed it was bigger than it looked. Théodred shuffled through with ease after her.

The caves were also much bigger than she expected and full of the commotion caused by hundreds of women, children, and some elderly men. She heard a small babe crying to her right. For a minute, Leòwyn was overwhelmed by the cramped space and so many bodies. There was not a space wide enough for more than a single body to squeeze into anywhere she could see. She balked at the idea of walking further into the underground maze, with its sharp jagged peaks, and dimly lit corners.

Théodred seemed to sense her deep unease for he placed a palm in the small of her back and move up beside her to look at her face. She had tucked her chin and was watching the others with lidded eyes. Her face did not reflect her near panic but her body was strung tight as a bow string and just as likely to snap.

Leòwyn remained rooted and he allowed her the time to work through her hesitance. She was a creature born under the open sky and used to the freedom that had given her. Now, being trapped underground and breathing the same air as many others felt unendingly wrong. Not even Théodred's presence seemed to be enough to wretch her from her anxiety which he somehow noted as well.

Théodred glanced one more time at her frozen statue of flesh before he walked further into the cave and disappeared around a corner. Leòwyn's mind screamed for him to come back but nothing escaped her lips. Her eyes had gone wide as saucers however and she could feel small tremors begin to wrack her frame. Suddenly nauseous, she crouched to the floor and put her head between her knees and cradled by her raised arms. She knew this was the only way for her to feel safe and allow her body to settle.

She did not know how long she remained sitting on her heels but she was jostled by someone grasping her shoulders and forcing her to stand. She knew it was Théodred by the warmth she felt radiate from his skin on hers. He brought her to her feet them wrapped a large arm around her shoulders. Leòwyn brought her eyes up from the ground and noticed that Eòwyn had joined them. _So that was where Théodred had gone_, she thought.

Eòwyn smiled slightly when they made eye contact, but it was strained. She then looked past Leowyn's head and nodded. Théodred turned the woman in his arms until they were face to face once more before kissing her deeply. Leòwyn felt tears slip from the corners of her eyes as she knew this was goodbye. For now she hoped. She kissed him back just as ardently as he was kissing her.

When he pulled back Leòwyn almost sobbed. Her hand raised to her lips as he kissed her forehead once more before retreating back towards the crack they had slipped through earlier. Eòwyn came to stand next to her and wrapped a lean arm around her back. Leòwyn stared after Théodred until he disappeared from view.

With a sigh, Eòwyn spoke, "Will you help prepare for the wounded? We have set up an area away from others, and all the supplies are there but it needs organizing. It might do well to keep your mind off what is happening above our heads."

Turning to the other woman, Leòwyn nodded solemnly and followed as she led the way. She refused to look backwards as she focused on placing one foot in front of the other. It felt as if a part of her was missing. She comforted herself with the fact that she could still feel the tethered bond she had with Theodred. It was weak with him being so far from her but it was there and pulsing lightly.

Eòwyn led her to the far end of one of the large caves where cots of straw covered in rough horse blankets were arranged in neatish lines. Beside each bed was a pail of clear water and a heaping of fresh bandages. Eòwyn introduced her to the handful of women already working in the cavern.

"Everyone, this is Leòwyn. She is a renowned healer and is here to guide us in our work this night," Eòwyn's voice echoed slightly in the open air of the cavern above their received halfhearted welcomes from the group before they all retreated back to their work.

Leòwyn gulped silently, almost wishing Eòwyn had not praised her skills so and quickly joined them. First she spent time rolling bandages to make it easier to bind around a wound. This would hopefully cut the time it took to move between patients.

Once all bandages had been rolled or were being rolled by other women, she moved to the small stash of medicinal herbs in the corner. She could have found it just by the smell alone. Her pack was resting lightly beside the largest wooden container that was full of jar of salve, labeled for pain or to fight infection, and an abundance of dried leaves. Leòwyn recognized the plant as Athelas. She wondered how the men of this castle knew about the healing properties of Athelas. It was usually seen as a weed by the realms of men.

Not taking anything for granted, she sent one of the women closest to her of boil a large caldron of water. She would make a modified version of her mother's healing brew and give instructions that it was to be fed to every conscious patient. It would hopefully raise the chances of survival for a few. She also noted the abundance of oil of poppy and sighed heavily. Poppy oil was helpful in blocking pain but also used to aid those who would soon depart this world. Each women would be given a flash to use sparingly.

The women all toiled away the hours working to get everything ready for the first wave and Leòwyn allowed herself to become lost in the work. It prevented her from obsessing over the worry buried deep in her chest. She could almost forget that there was to be a pitched battle for the survival of the Realm of Rohan and for the survival of the one who held her heart. She had not lied when she told him she would not live without him.

Being of elvish descent, Leòwyn knew she would fade should Theodred fall. She had heard stories of full-bloodied Elves fading and knew her Aunt had been one. It did not sound like a wonderful experience but she was bound too tightly to the man above her head than even she was willing to admit.

Finally there was nothing to do but sit and wait. The other women had all gathered around a small fire that created more light than the multitude of lanterns and candles scattered around the outcroppings. Leowyn moved to join them, slowly sitting down next to a woman she recognized as being introduced as Cwenhild. She was the wife of the late Door Warden of Edoras, Hama. She was also heavily pregnant.

Cwenhild favored Leòwyn with a smile and handed her a small bowl of vegetables in broth. For the first time all night Leòwyn realized how starving she was. She hadn't eaten a full meal since the early morning before sunrise. It was well into the night now and the women spoke quietly on random topics. Leòwyn wasn't the only one to notice how tense everyone was. Eòwyn was sitting across the fire and when their eyes met she saw her thoughts reflected in the others blue eyes. She dutifully did not mention it.

The conversation slowly died out as bits of rock began to fall like rain around them. Leòwyn felt particles drift into her hair and strained her ears to hear anything through the many feet of rock over their heads. She was the first to notice the pulsing vibration in the floor and cave rock. It reminded her of the beat of a drum and with a jolt she understood what it was. It was the coordinated marching of thousands of feet. Her breath seemed to be stolen from her body as she once more locked eyes with Eòwyn whose face was one of shock. Leòwyn nodded to confirm her own conclusion.

With a mouth gone dry from fear, Leòwyn spoke. All the women turned at the sound of her croak. "Ladies, I believe it is time to prepare ourselves for our first wounded. Please take your places. May the Valar favor you all and I will see you when this has ended, one way or another."

Eòwyn nodded at her as everyone scrambled to make their last minute preparations and line up by each cot. A handful of women retreated to the opening of the cavern which lead to the sections that held the rest of the women and children and seated themselves by raised rocks or small tables that could be found. They would handle the small wounds before sending their patients back to the fight. As repulsive as Leòwyn thought of this, she knew it was necessary.

Eòwyn positioned herself in the middle of the entrance and planted herself with feet wide apart and shoulders squared. Her sword swung lightly from her hips and Leòwyn fervently prayer she would not have to use it. Her own weapons, her knife and bow and quiver, had been placed nearby.

Eòwyn would be the one to direct incoming wounded to different sections for each type of wound. Whether it be arrow wounds, or sword slashes, each part of the cavern was divided up to allow for the ease of movement of healers and patients.

Leòwyn settled herself at the very first cot, where the direly wounded would be brought. Her hands were shaking so she buried them in her lap and tried to focus on the upcoming task. She would need to steel her nerves against the blood, broken bones, and spilled insides that were bound to follow. Her mind flickered back to the battlefield she had found Theodred on many fortnights ago. The image of bodies, eviscerated and in heaps, caused her to bite her tongue to keep control of her emotions. She tasted blood.

Leòwyn knew these women were all terrified, if not more than herself, and were looking to her for guidance and strength. She was the only qualified healer amongst them. With a deep breath and a proud tilt of her head she leveled her eyes at Eowyn's back and set her jaw. Her shoulders rotated back to lift her chest and she relaxed her muscles. She heard more than saw the bodies around her take a collective breath. The tension eased slightly in the expanse of air.

The candles burned down slowly as the only sounds heard were the clamors coming through the bedrock. Even the breath of hundreds of people seemed silent compared to the pitched battle above them.

Without warning there was a ghastly cry that came from the cavern to their right and Eòwyn disappeared around the corner. Leòwyn stood but held fast near her cot. She had made it clear that the women were to keep their positions no matter what they heard. To save as many as they could this would have to be an organized chaos. She had young boys on standby to fetch extra bandages or cups of healing draught and an army of elderly men and women who had volunteered to clean and rewrap bandages threw the night.

Eòwyn soon returned, essentially carrying the weight of a limping man that had a deep gash running from his hip to his knee. It was streaming blood but had been hastily wrapped with a torn tunic. Leòwyn surmised that was the only reason this man was still standing. Motioning to Eòwyn she helped lower the man down onto her cot. His blood quickly start to stain the horse blanket below.

As she made quick work of the shredded tunic and had a good look at the man's leg, her healer mind took over. This wound was similar to the wound she had healed on Théodred's chest. A long, deep sword slash that had cut to the bone. Leòwyn noted he was lucky it hadn't hit a major blood supply or he would have been dead long ago.

Many more wounded began to flood into the cavern manned by the women of Rohan. Some with only concussions and small wounds. Others with arrows still embedded in eye sockets and limbs missing from sword strikes from foul beasts. The cavern echoed with the screams of the wounded and dying. Leòwyn toiled onward. She hardly stopped to give more than a thought to each wound before patching on a young stable boy up and sending him back out to face the horrors beyond the cave or motioning for two young boys to move the body of a man who had just died on her cot before she could attempt to save him.

When she had a moment to look up, she noticed that there were hundreds of wounded now littering the floor. There was almost no room to walk without a body being underfoot. The rocky floor was covered in the fluids of the dead and dying and she had heard the curses of many who had lost their footing and slipped. Leòwyn turned back to her work with a blank mind. Her muscles moved on instinct and she lost herself in the gruesome work.

For what seemed like days, Leòwyn and the other women were up to their elbows in blood. The air had become hot and stank something foul but they barely noticed. Their clothing was saturated and streaked with blood, both human and orc.

A large boom sounded in the Deep. For an awful moment, the caves under the Deeping Wall shook like a leaf in a stiff breeze and large rocks fell from the ceilings. Cries rang out as some hit living flesh. Leòwyn crouched protectively over the patient on her cot. As the shaking stopped and her ears stopped ringing, everyone turned back to their task. The fear of something being able to cause such shaking of the mountain itself was buried under the stress of saving as many lives as they could.

Leòwyn desperately worked to save the young boy under her hands that had lost his leg below the knee. It was a ragged cut, from a blunt weapon, and filthy. She poured her Fea into him as she continued to clean the wound. Thankfully the poor boy had fainted before she had started to clean his wound and she therefore had no qualms about making it less painful. She scrubbed at the wound with a clean cloth soaked in Athelas brew and once she was satisfied that it was clean enough she focused on convincing his _Fea_ to staunch the bleeding.

She felt energy leave her body and almost swayed but caught herself on the edge of the wall to her right. Looking down she was relieved to see the bleeding had stopped along the cut line and she quickly crouched and threaded a needle. She had to wipe sweat and blood out of her eyes to properly see the needle even with her elvin sight. She expertly stitched the remaining skin around his leg together and once she made sure he was safe she motioned for the two boys waiting by her cot to take him into the other cavern to rest.

There seemed to be no respite in sight and Leòwyn could feel her energy failing. Like most of the others in the cavern she was starting to feel fatigue drag her down. Her breath came out in large gasps. Suddenly Eòwyn appeared next to her with a cup of draught and Leòwyn quickly gulped it down, hoping to replenish some of her energy.

Eòwyn was frowning heavily at her, covered in dirt and blood herself. "Do not over tax yourself Leòwyn, we have not seen the end of this yet."

Eòwyn looked to almost at the end of her strength as well but the stubborn set of her jaw told Leowyn all she needed to know. The White Lady of Rohan was not one to give up. So neither would she.

Leòwyn nodded, pushing the cup back into Eòwyn's hands before motioning for another patient to be brought to her. Leòwyn fell into a pattern. She saved one life as much as she lost one. The scent of death was cloying on the air.

Terrified screams rent the air from the forward facing cavern. The screams of overwhelming fear brought Leowyn's attention around quickly. Her mind was jolted out of her healing trance and her hand automatically dropped to the knife at her hip. Locating Eòwyn near the front of the cave, she asked a women next to her to watch the sleeping man on her cot before scooping her bow and quiver and notching an arrow. Whatever was causing commotion in the other cavern gave her an evil feeling in her mind.

Leòwyn reached Eòwyn quickly, who had withdrawn her sword from its scabbard, and together they stepped towards the other cave. The sight that lay before them was horrific in its brutality. Orcs had found the gap to the entrance of the caves and were pushing their way through. Two had already crossed the gap and had struck women closest to the entrance. Multiple bodies were down and the orcs were advancing on the cowering people in front of them.

Leòwyn's arrow was released from her strong faster than lightning on the plains. It struck true and planted itself in the neck of the closest beast. Her second caught the next one in the vulnerable spot between armored plates under the arm. Both went down with barely a sound. For the first time since entering the caves, Leòwyn thanked the Valar that the entrance was so small. It limited the amount of foul creatures that could get through at one time.

As Leòwyn stood back and picked off the large black bodies one at a time, Eòwyn moved forward with her sword raised. A mighty cry sprang from her lips as she cut the head off a particularly large orc that had swung just a little too slowly to catch the Swordmaiden.

Eòwyn twirled and slashed, her sword hitting home with each pass. The orcs were no match for the livid woman who wielded a sword as if it were an extension of her body. Leòwyn noted her movements in awe between shots. Soon enough her arrows dwindled and she had to run forward to jerk them out of the cooling bodies of her victims.

As she leaned down to yank an arrow from the chest of an orc, she allowed her attention to falter and therefore almost missed an orc that had snuck up behind her and had its word raised to cut her down. The cries of the people in the cave alerted her to the danger she was in and she swiftly pivoted to duck under the powerful swing. Leòwyn retreated a few steps and turned to face the ugly creature.

A distorted smile warped its face, "Come here little girl, let me cut that pretty head off."

Fury enveloped her being and with a snarl that stopped the orc in its tracks she pitched forward and planted her newly recaptured arrow in the beast eye. She went down with it as its body dropped heavily. One last gurgle and the body lay still.

Leòwyn stood once more with a vicious smile on her bloody lips. Red hot bloodlust sped through her veins as she looked around for another enemy to fell. Her hunting knife had appeared in her hand as if by magic and she was crouched low, ready for anything.

The first thing she noticed was that Eòwyn was standing, sword arm drooping and sword tip on the ground, staring at the entrance to the caves. She could see her body heaving deep breaths but she was not moving. The second thing she noticed was that there were no more orcs coming from the gap. Leowyn stood from her crouch, legs burning with the effort and stumbled her way to the Shieldmaidens side.

"What is it Eòwyn?" she gasped, handing coming to paw at the other woman's shoulder. She directed her gaze to the gap where the other woman was staring. Through the gap she could see a man's face. He had stopped short of entering the caves and was looking around with horror and surprise. The man looked vaguely familiar and it took Leòwyn a few minutes to remember that he was one of the guards that had been manning the door to the Great Hall when they had arrived.

Eòwyn finally seemed to reclaim her senses and straightened her posture. Leòwyn's hand slipped over her shoulder and they both boldly faced the man, covered from head to toe in orc gore and filth. Their eyes shined vividly against the flickering candle light.

Eòwyn commanded, "Tell us your news."

The man stepped further into the cave and a large smile gripped his face, "I have come to report on behalf of Marshall Erkenbrand, Lord of Helm's Deep, that the enemy has been defeated." A great cry rose through the caves.

The man continued as the sound died down, "Lord Eomer arrived at the dawning of the day, with the Wizard Gandalf, and three thousand Rohirrim to crush the enemy from the East, all the while Theoden King rode down from the Citadel. They met on the battlefield victorious as the orc scum ran for the valleys entrance. That is not all! The trees from the forest have grown overnight and encompassed the entrance to the valley. Lord Erkenbrand does not think they will escape the forest alive."

Leòwyn and Eòwyn sagged together and sunk to the floor. Both had tears running down their face, creating clean tracks through the filth that blackened their skin. Women rushed up to them to express their thanks and suddenly the cavern was filled with even more people as men poured through the entrance, looking for loved ones. On unsteady legs, with the help of a few of the other healers, Eòwyn and Leòwyn stood and slowly retreated back to the healing ward.

The women checked them over quickly before leaving them sitting, propped up by each other's bodies and slowly sipping on recently warmed stew.

"Do you think those orcs looked at us and thought we would fall easily?" Leòwyn broke the silence.

Eòwyn shot her a look that clearly stated that that is exactly what they thought but a nudge from her friend had the woman giggling. Soon the two of them were clutching their sides and cackling loud enough to draw attention.

As they calmed down Eòwyn looked over at her, "Thank you." She said.

Leòwyn shot her a questioning glance. "I would not have been able to defend against so many alone. Your precise shots saved my life and the lives of my people."

Leòwyn shook her head but grinned when Eòwyn frowned. "I was only doing what I thought right. I could not leave you to stand alone."

Then with a gasp Leòwyn placed a hand over her mouth, before her shoulders began to shake with mirth. It was Eòwyn turn to question her.

"Theodred is going to be so upset with me. He told me that if there was any trouble that I should take the tunnels in the back of the cave and live." Eòwyn's eyes widened before she too began to laugh, a high pitched and joyous sound. The two women laughed until tears leaked from their eyes once more before once more calming down.

"I am glad you were here with me Leòwyn," Eòwyn whispered in the silence, "I could not have asked for a more worthy partner in battle."

Leòwyn shot her a beaming smile and squeezed the arm that was intertwined with hers. They lapsed into silence, supporting each other and fell asleep with their heads resting together.

When Théodred and the King found them hours later, they women barely twitched as they were lifted and carried back to their rooms in the keep. They slept deeply and with the knowledge that they had saved more lives than they had lost.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

Leòwyn growled at her skin. No one had told her how terrible it was to get orc blood off skin or out of hair. She scrubbed harder with the rigid bar of soap and her arms flared red in response. She had been sitting in this tub of water for well past a candle mark and only a portion of her skin was clean. The water she was half submerged in was black and stank something foul.

With a sigh Leòwyn decided her rash decision to decline help was a mistake. She was never going to be able to scrub hard enough to get the skin on her back clean or brush out her hair. She eyed the small bell that her maid servant had placed by her side. That woman had given her a cheeky grin before departing as if she had known something Leowyn did not. Now the half-elf knew she did indeed possessed knowledge Leowyn had not. That orc blood was a sticky substance that floated on water instead of mixing down and reattached itself to any open skin.

Gritting her teeth, Leòwyn reached a pink hand and rang the small bell. Not being able to complete this task by herself grated on her. She could very well slay an orc on her own, but she could not clean herself afterwards.

The older maid who had originally placed the bell by Leowyn's side entered the small bathing alcove not a minute later, followed by two younger maids and all carrying large buckets of steaming water. With a suffering smile, Leòwyn raised her hands in exasperation. Her expression caused all the women to break out into small giggles.

"I did warn ye, ma lady," the older woman griped but a smile hung around her mouth and softened her reproach.

With a mopey nod, Leòwyn replied, "You did Bertha, and I was too foolish to listen. I had not expected this filth to be so stubborn." Her soaking wet hair clung to her forehead and down her back. With large eyes she begged, "Please help me get it off me or I shall throw myself in the fire and burn it off."

"No need for all that, ma lady. We'll get ye set to rights, won't we girls?" A chorus of aye's calmed Leòwyn, if only slightly.

The old woman tutted before directing the young girls to place the hot water by the tub and motioned for Leòwyn to stand. Once she had done so, her front somewhat clean and her back still filthy, Bertha helped her out of the bath and with a swift motion unplugged the drain. The small group of women watched the dark water swirl at the basin of the tub. One young maid gently wrapped Leòwyn in a towel and moved her back as the rest began to refill the tub.

The steam from the fresh water helped further relax Leòwyn and she could feel exhaustion pulling at her once more. She had slept fitfully after the battle, vivid dreams keeping her mind active, and awoken in her previous room much to her surprise. She knew there was only one way she had been carried and not awoken and that was in the arms of the Prince. Eòwyn had swept in not long after with fresh clothes and maids for a bath.

The White Lady of Rohan had looked beautiful, already scrubbed clean, and dressed in a flowing white dress with sleeves that almost touched the stone beneath her feet. Leòwyn could see why she had gotten her title. Leowyn was mortified to still be covered from head to toe in filth and looking like a vagabond. Smelling like one too. She almost cried at the feeling of pinched skin caused by others dried blood.

Eòwyn had laughed good naturedly at her and left to hunt down Théodred, who was locked in Lord Erkenbrand's chambers with the remaining war council. She reassured the brunette that he would leave immediately if he knew she was awake. Before she exited the room, she had left instructions for the bed sheets to be changed and food to be brought for the part-elf.

As Leòwyn sunk down into the pleasantly warm water and allowed the women around her to get to work scrubbing her body clean, she tried to ignore the uncomfortable pit in her stomach. She had felt uneasy since awakening having not seen Theodred in the flesh since the caves. She would continue to feel this way until she could see him with her own eyes, and confirm he had made it through without injury. Even the tethered connection between them, signaling he was alive, did little to reassure her.

The women made quick work of washing her body and hair. As she stepped out of the dirty water once more she was wrapped in a soft blanket. Their soft mutterings held an undertone of reverence. Leòwyn could sense their awe of her and it increased her discomfort.

Her actions in the caves had been directed by fear and desperation. She was not a soldier. She had never seen battle but had managed to prevent a massacre in the caves with her well used hunting skills. She had even left the dirty work to Eowyn and her sword.

As she moved back into the main chamber of her room, the maids quickly cleaned the smaller room, striped and changed the bed, and then were shooed out the door by old Bertha. Bertha closed the stone door with a resolute bang before turning back to Leòwyn with her hands on her broad hips.

"Don't mind them, ma Lady. Us girls were raised on stories of Shieldmaiden's and fierce warrior women. There has not been one in the Mark in many lifetimes but still, they do not see the sacrifice, only the glory."

Leòwyn grimaced but managed a smile for the kind maid. Sacrifice indeed. Bertha quickly helped her change into another of Eowyn's old dresses, this one a light green that reminded her of the colors of new leaves in spring. She then sat Leòwyn in front of a small mirror and with swift fingers, elegantly braided back the tops of her hair, leaving the rest hanging limply down her back. It would take a while for it to dry naturally given the thickness of Leowyn's hair.

"Thank you, Bertha," Leòwyn murmured.

Bertha gave the younger woman one last pat on the back before moving out the door to complete her other tasks.

The women of the Deep had taken it as their duty to scrub clean the filth that had trampled through the Deep. Much like they had just scrubbed Leowyn clean, all the women from the caves had emerged and immediately set to dragging bodies out of the gates to be burned or buried, and removing signs of the battle that had taken place.

All worked with fervent passion to erase the existence of the beasts from their minds. Many of the women did it as catharsis to ease the pain of losing the ones they loved. Leòwyn had heard the cries from her window as many found their deceased loved ones. The sound of their mourning would haunt her.

Leòwyn had stayed seated in front of the mirror and scrutinized her appearance. Her mother had only had one mirror that she had used to attend to her hair in the morning and Leowyn had sometimes been allowed to sit and watch her mother as she did her hair but for the most part she had grown up not caring about her appearance.

Leòwyn noted her almond-shaped crystal eyes. Her arching eyebrows and small nose. Her eyes trailed down past her sharp cheekbones and rosy cheeks to her full lips. With an index finger, Leòwyn traced the small cut that drew a red line along her jawline. She hardly remembered the feeling of the last orc she slew catching her jaw with a claw. It gave an unpleasant sting as she touched it.

Overall, Leòwyn judged herself to be symmetrical and was pleased but without another thought stood and padded to the chairs and small table in front of the fireplace. A cold meal of cheese, bread, and dried meat had been set out for her.

Leòwyn hadn't taken a bite before the door to her bedchamber swung open. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and pivoted to face it. Her body reacted on instinct as if to a threat with her body crouched low and hands raised in front of her.

Théodred froze, one hand still on the handle of the door, head ducked to enter her bedchamber. His eyes took in her posture quickly and he raised his hands as if in surrender. Leowyn quickly snapped out of her posture with wide eyes. Her spine straightened.

"Leòwyn?" his deep voice caused a full body shiver before Leowyn closed the gap between them and flung herself into his arms.

His arms caught her form in midair. Suddenly she was secure in a tight embrace, lifted off her feet. Automatically Leòwyn brought her legs up to encircle his waist, thankful for the long material of the dress she wore. She pressed her body against his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. Her head was buried in his neck. Théodred leaned down to lay his face against the side of her head.

One of Théodred's hands had come up and started stroking her hair. Leòwyn made a noise of protest a moment later as he leaned back to look at her face, causing a small chuckle. She raised her head from his neck and looked at his face.

Théodred has a stitched cut that traveled from his forehead down across his eyebrow and ending right before his left eye. It didn't look too deep. She reached up to lightly touch the stitches, a question in her gaze. Théodred just smiled in response. Her eyes swam with tears of joy as she caught his honey colored ones.

"Hi," she whispered, a beaming smile transforming her face. The relief of seeing him unharmed made the room spin. A matching smile stretched across his face in return. He leaned in and their kiss sparked flames across her skin, scorching at it traveled to rest below her navel.

Théodred moved forward slightly to fling the door shut behind him as they kissed. The door shut with a small bang that neither noticed. His arms moved down to cradle her thighs as he carried them further into the room towards the large four poster bed along the far wall.

Théodred's thighs bumped against the end of the bed and he slowly lowered her so that Leowyn was sitting on the comfortable mattress, her legs parted to allow him as close to her as she could. Feeling his skin on hers, his lips on hers, intensified the buzzing under her skin. She allowed the pressure of his kiss push her to lay flat on the bed, her hands still buried in his hair as he climber on top of her, pinning her under his body weight.

Théodred rumbled deep in his chest, one hand gripping her slender waist while the other drew circles under her ear – one of the sensitive spots he had found. Leowyn smiled around his kiss at the contented feeling that bloomed in her chest. She would stay exactly like this forever if she could. With a closed kiss, Théodred pulled back, leaning on his elbows, to look down at the woman pinned under him. Her half-lidded, ice blue eyes burned with a passion he matched. He found himself staring at her swollen, delectable lips with need.

He never wanted to feel the almost debilitating shock of fear that had struck him when news of the attack on the caves had reached him. He had been on the battlefield, outside the gates, when a young farmer boy had come running up to him with the news. Orcs had breached the caves and there were losses.

He had never moved faster in his life, than his gallop back towards the keep and run to the lower parts of the Deeping Caves. His father had been right behind him, followed closely by Eomer and Mithrandir. When he had squeezed through the entrance of the caves and witnessed the strewn about bodies, some of women and children and with them large, black bodies, he had almost screamed her name. That is until he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his Fathers knowing gaze. 'She is not here my son.'

Hope had bloomed back into his chest when one of the women, covered in the blood of many others, had approached him and told him about the two women in the healing caves. With quick strides he had followed the woman, one he recognized as Cwenhild, wife of Hama. There he had found her. And Eowyn.

They had fallen into an exhausted slumber, proper up against each other and leaning on the stone behind them. Both were filthy, covered in the gore of human and orc. When he had heard the recounted tale of how Eowyn and his love had saved the caves from an onslaught of beast that had slipped past the line of men he had never been more terrified and more proud. Leòwyn didn't know it but she was well on her way to becoming a champion of the people.

Leòwyn was busy studying his features, hands roaming across the plains of his body she could reach. Théodred leaned down once more to take her lips with his. When he pulled away again he scooted backwards off the bed and rose to grab the food he had seen Leòwyn attempting to eat before his entrance had startled her.

Leòwyn crawled backwards on the bed and placed her back against the wall, glacier eyes watching him like a hawk. The feeling of being watched by her had Théodred reigning in his desire. They were not married yet but how he wanted her. When they finally took their vows, he didn't think he would ever stop touching her.

He brought the tray of food over to her and placed it on the bed by her feet. Théodred then climbed up and pulled her to his chest, as he sat with his back on the pillows and head resting on the stone wall.

"You have not eaten enough lately, my love," he said. She hummed and immediately began munching. She was starving, but took the time to feed her human pillow as well.

Leòwyn sat between his legs, as she had done many times before, but this time it was different. They had survived the impossible, and with the battle still fresh in their minds they stayed cuddled in each other's arms the rest of the afternoon and into evening.

They traded stories of the battle. And vowed to keep nothing from the other, no matter how bad. Leòwyn wanted to keep out the part of almost losing her head to an orc through her own thoughtlessness but uttered the words and watched as his face went through a series of emotions. In the end he sighed and said all that mattered was that she was safe.

Théodred told her of the sword strike aimed at him that an old man had stepped in and taken for him. He explained the burden of guilt he felt at the nameless man's death and let her comfort him. He listened as she sent a prayer to the Valar for the bravery of that man and sent wishes for his family to be comforted by his life well lived and by his sacrifice.

They sat in silence at the end of their tales and almost couldn't believe their luck. For that is what Leòwyn surely believed it was. An army of beasts had come to wipe the land of all living men, had even breached the impenetrable fortress of men, and they had still triumphed. At great cost.

"Théodred," she tilted her head around to look at him, "where do we go from here?"

He took a moment to reply. "Father wishes to march to Isengard and confront the White Wizard himself. He will be taking a small party of his commanders. We will leave the day after tomorrow, and be back in two days' time. After that, it is up to the King, but I know him well. He will retreat back to Edoras and await further word of war."

"This is not the end is it?" she whispered.

Théodred hummed, "No. I dare say this is just the beginning."

Leòwyn nodded against his chest. She loathed to be parted from him for even a few days but knew it was a necessary cost. She stayed wrapped in his arms for another candle mark before her stomach rumbled loudly.

With a grin, Théodred quipped, "Is the Lady Champion hungry already?" Leòwyn quirked an eyebrow at the nickname. She was no one's champion.

With a cheeky grin she stood in one fluid movement on the bed and jumped down softly. The spring green dress floated down around here. She was at the door before he had even got up from the bed.

"Catch me if you can my lord, this Lady Champion can be swift," she caught his surprised look and with that she was gone.

Leòwyn ran swiftly down the corridors that she remembered from the walk to her room the first day. Had it really been only three days before? So many life changing events had happened in the last three days. Her booted feet barely touched the ground before pushing off. Her elvin heritage shining strongly through as she neatly pivoted around a corner and came to a halt right before the tunnel to the Great Hall.

She had not encountered anyone on her way here and that sobered her mood quite a bit. The halls were empty because so many had died in the great battle for Helm's Deep. With a low sigh, she entered the Hall and immediately spotted the white dress of Eòwyn. She was seated by a man with similar coloring and strong features.

She made her way across the hall towards her friend but was halted by a commanding voice at the front of the hall.

"Lady Leòwyn."

She turned and for the first time noticed the King was once again surrounded by a group of warriors, all strapped with swords and plated in armor. He beckoned her to approach. With a nervous gulp, Leòwyn turned her stride and headed for the dais.

As she stepped within a few feet of the King she gracefully bobbed a curtsy. It was by far the most elegant she had ever managed and a small smile lit her face at her success. Looking into the face of the King as she rose, she noticed an assessing glint in his eye. She cocked her head at him, much like one of the birds of her meadow.

Théoden King grinned. "I was beginning to wonder where you had stolen my son off too," he said before twitching his head in the direction she had just come from.

Leòwyn turned her head to see Théodred finally enter the hall. With a large smile she turned around to face the King once more.

"He was too slow, your majesty. I couldn't wait for him all day."

The King boomed out a laugh that had heads turning all across the hall. A few more smiles lit the faces of those who witnessed the King in good spirits.

"You would do well to make him keep up with you, my dear. Please go enjoy your supper, but send Théodred over to me after." Leòwyn curtsied once more and turned to walk back to the table that Eowyn was seated at, intending to meet Théodred on the way.

She turned back at the voice of the King addressed her once more, "Oh and Lady Leòwyn," he motioned to the cut on her jaw with a thumb swipe and winked at her, "Well met. I am glad my son has chosen smartly."

Leòwyn allowed a large grin to take over her face as she bowed deeply to the King. His approval of her defense of his people left her slightly flushed. She was not used to praise and it made her more inclined to want to please him again with her actions. She now understood why men fought and died willingly for such a man. He inspired devotion.

Leòwyn met Théodred just as he was about to sit down across from the burly man that shared a strange resemblance to both Eòwyn and Théodred. He smiled at her and motioned for her to take the seat next to her. As she sat, he passed down a bowl of stew and some bread. Leòwyn directed a smile at Eòwyn before focusing on her meal. That was the whole reason she had come to the hall in the first place.

"So, this must be your woman, huh Théodred,' the hairy man across the table diagonally from her stated. His voice was almost deeper than Théodred's and had a sandpaper quality to it that sounded like rocks rubbing together.

Leòwyn looked up at the question and made eye contact with him. He had the same shrewd look in his eye that Eòwyn had when they had first met. Leòwyn felt herself bristle. She had not gone through so much in the last few days to be treated as if she did not belong here. Théodred was hers and if she had to beat it into this man's head then she would.

Noticing the tension between the two of them Théodred cleared his throat while Eòwyn just continued to hide her smile behind a mug of ale.

"Leòwyn, this is Eòmer, son of Eomund, and Third Marshall of the Riddermark," Théodred cut through their staring match, drawing Leòwyn's eyes to him as Eòmer continued to study her. She could feel his gaze and shot another annoyed look at him, her dark eyebrows pulled over glacier eyes. "He is also unfortunately my cousin. He is Eòwyn's brother."

Eòmer snorted at his last comment, a smile finally breaking over his stern face. Leòwyn's eyes widened at the transformation that overtook his face. Where before she would have compared him unfavorably to a troll with all his frowning, when he smiled he was suddenly much more handsome.

Théodred leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I don't want you looking at anyone like that but me." His breath drifted over her neck. He caught the shiver it caused and grinned wolfishly.

Leòwyn could not control her body's reaction to the insufferable man but two could play at that game. She smirked dangerously and saw Théodred's eyes narrow before she slipped a hand on the thigh resting next to hers, letting it slide up towards his crouch.

A sharp intake of breath was his response.

Eòwyn and Eòmer had been watching this entire exchange and when Théodred suddenly went still like the dead, Eomer threw back his head and gave a throaty laugh. He laughed so long that Leòwyn wondered when he breathed.

Leòwyn retracted her hand and leaned over to give Théodred a peck on the cheek as he stewed in his loss. She giggled at his playfully bitter and slightly flushed face before returning to her food.

"I dare say you have found your match, cousin. And in the form of such beauty, I envy you," Eòmer still had a smile stretched across his face and across the table he gave Leòwyn a snarky bow and nod.

Leòwyn smiled at him slightly and nodded, acknowledging the truce between them. Noticing that her bowl was almost empty, Théodred passed her another from further down the table, along with more bread. Leòwyn dug in happily.

So focused on her meal was she that when she finished her second bowl she looked up to three sets of eyes staring at her. Théodred looked content that she was finally eating enough. Eòwyn was mildly surprised, her eyebrows raised as she took small sips of her ale. The most drastic however was Eòmer. His mouth was open in a slack jawed gap and he flicked his eyes between the two bowls stacked between her and her face.

Leòwyn sat back, delightfully full, and patter her flat stomach through her dress with a grin. Eòmer's loud laughter caused them to all join in. Their table was easily the loudest and seeing the Royal family all in high spirits after the tragedy of the past few days raised the mood fo the rest of the men in the hall.

Leòwyn leaned her head contently on Théodred's shoulder and loosely wrapped both hands around his bicep. His right hand came up to cup her own and rub circles on her smooth skin. Soon enough she could feel herself begin to nod off. She had not slept well in what felt like ages and with a full stomach her body wished for rest.

"Are you ready to retire, my love?" Théodred asked her quietly. She blushed slightly at being caught with her eyes closed leaning her full body on him before nodding. Bidding the others at the table goodbye, Théodred rose before taking her hand and helping her stand. He knew from experience how clumsy she got when she was tired.

She let Théodred guide her through the halls and back to her doorway. He turned as they stopped with the door open, pulling her against his body. Leòwyn stood on her toes to reach his face.

"I love you, _ma gaestlufe_," he whispered against her lips. The term of endearment brought a beautiful smile to her face and in the firelight he kissed her sweetly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Théodred left the following morning, along with a handful of others, the Wizard Gandalf, and the King. They went to confront Isengard and Saruman, the disgraced wizard.

Leòwyn felt the pain of his leaving but also knew they would be reunited in a few days' time. Eòwyn was similarly upset with the leaving of Lord Aragorn so the two women spent much time in each other's company.

Leòwyn had never been more surprised to meet the companions of Lord Aragorn. Rising early to bid the small company goodbye, she had been introduced to Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, and Gimli, son of Glòin of the Blue Mountains.

The elf had been polite, if distant, but Leòwyn had caught him sneaking looks at her from the corner of her eye. She had pretended not to notice but his attention put her on guard, his frown making her uneasy.

It had been her first time meeting a dwarf and she was unendingly curious, something that seemed to please the gruff member of Durin's Folk. He had bid her farewell with a kiss on the back of her hand and Leòwyn had given him an exaggerated curtsy that brought a bark of a laughter from the stout figure.

It seemed all of Helm's Deep was preparing for the departure of a large caravan that was to travel back to Edoras. Leòwyn remembered her excitement when Théodred had told her she would be traveling back to meet them at the capital. Eòwyn would be journeying with her as well and preparing for a feast in honor of the Fallen who had given their lives for their fellow countrymen at the Battle of Helm's Deep.

Leòwyn had agreed to help Eòwyn with the preparations and was already beginning to regret it. She had never imagined the amount of time and energy that went into organizing a celebration such as this. And they had yet to even leave for Edoras.

Eòwyn had put her in charge of the decorations and the ale. Leòwyn had argued wholeheartedly that that duty should be given to someone with any experience more than hers. She did not want to be responsible for making a mistake that ruins a feast in honor of the dead if there was no ale or mead.

Eòwyn had smiled coyly at her and assured her that she wouldn't ruin it before leaving Leowyn to figure it out herself. 'Good preparation for being Queen one day, is it not?' the golden haired woman had quipped behind her shoulder at the poor brunette.

The idea of being Queen was something Leòwyn had been pushing to the back of her mind for some time, after she had made the conclusion of what loving Théodred would mean. She would never be returning to her small meadow or Oaken Grandfather and the thought caused her face to tighten as she fought against tears.

_Now is not the time nor place, silly girl _she thought.

Leòwyn growled under her breath, sounding very much like a wounded animal, before running to the kitchens in search of Bertha. The old maid that had helped her after the Battle was someone Leowyn had come to adore. Surely a woman of her years would know how to acquisition at least ten barrels of ale and mead for such an occasion and what type of decorations would be appropriate for a mourning feast. Her fleet steps left her soft cream colored dressed streaming after her.

Eòwyn had practically forced her to borrow more of her clothing. Leòwyn thought her homespun dresses she had brought with her would good enough but the White Lady of Rohan had disagreed.

Eòwyn has tsked and forcefully stated she needed to start acting like a Princess and future Queen so that the people would recognize her as such. Leòwyn had rolled her eyes in response but agreed easily enough. Only because she adored the soft fabric that floated around her body as if lighter than air and her old dresses were nowhere near the quality of Eòwyn's closet.

Leòwyn was barefoot on this day, enjoying the feeling of smooth stone under her soles. Spring had come to the Realm of the Horselords and she could hardly waste a day trapped in confining leather again.

With her wild curls thrown over one shoulder and her small, pale feet peeking from under her hem she looked quite the loon but Leòwyn did not care. She missed her meadow more than she was willing to admit, especially to Théodred who wished for her to be happy here. The thought of running her toes through the newly sprouted grass created an ache in her heart.

But she was happy here. She had found her One. Something that she had never put stock in, no matter how many times her mother had said he would appear. Throughout her childhood Leòwyn had questioned whether her mother had the ability to peer into the future. Her mother had never confirmed but she had always known more than she said.

Finding her One did not stop her from feeling the loss of her way of life in her soul. Eowyn had first been surprised at her lack of footwear when she had come to collect her to begin preparations to depart of Edoras on the morrow. She had eventually supported Leòwyn's decision to go barefoot, giving her a knowing look at pieced her being. The future Queen of Rohan did not have to answer to anyone currently around to see her state at least.

Bertha was sitting at a small table, peeling potatoes, when Leòwyn found her. The old maid took in the part-elf's appearance in one gaze and a small smirk overcame her face. Leowyn grinned, a slightly burdened smile but genuine all the same.

"Ye are certainly different, my lady. Like a breath of fresh air, ye are." The old woman then raised an eyebrow, already surmising the reason for Leowyn's frantic entrance to the kitchens.

"What is it, dear? And be quick about it, Old Selwig will be back soon and ye know his distaste for people who are not working in his kitchens."

"Lady Eòwyn has given me the task of organizing the ale and decorations for the feast in Edoras once the Kings party returns. I don't know the first thing of how to procure ale, Bertha! Or what decorations does one choose for a feast to honor the dead? This will be my first feast," Leòwyn composed herself and folder her hands in front of her, hoping to look less manic than she felt. "I am requesting your help, Bertha. Or at least a point in the right direction."

The old woman gave her a shrewd glance before placing the final potato she had continued to peel without looking in the basket. "Aye, I'll help ya deary, but first help me clean up these shavings. Can't leave a mess for that crotchety kitchen master or I shalln't hear the end of it."

Leòwyn jumped to help her gather the potato skins and threw them in the heap of other peeled vegetables that Bertha directed her too. Nothing went to waste here, that Leòwyn knew. All of those peelings would go into a stew for the soldiers and displaced farmers or it would go back into the garden to feed the new crops.

She was anxious to get started, hopping slightly from one foot to another. Bertha rolled her eyes before shooing her back through the door to the kitchens. Once in the hallway, the old woman took off at a ground eating pace, barely giving the young beauty behind her a chance to catch up.

"First is first. Ale is gonna be the most important. The men will not notice much if there is ale so the decorations can be last. To getchur hands on that much ale, ye need to speak to Aescwine," she rattled on at Leòwyn. "He is the Master of Ceremony and holds the key to the cellars at Edoras. Not many have seen the storehouse of the Royal city but there be rumors about its depth, if ye get my meaning."

Leòwyn's eyebrows raised in speculation, "And where can I find this Master of Ceremony?"

Bertha snorted unladylike, her lips twisting with distaste "Aescwine is a drunk. Ye will find him in the brew house more likely."

"But it is not yet mid-day!" Leòwyn gasped causing another snort from the old maid. Leòwyn noted they had ventured out of the keep and now were on the well-traveled road that led to the guard's quarters and stables.

Bertha's stride did not stop as they approached a well-worn straw thatched building that butted up against the base of the mountain. Shooting another look at Leòwyn, she said, "Better let old Bertha handle this, ma lady. Aescwine is not known for his gentile ways. Many a broad have been offended by his drunken behavior. Tha daft man knows what will happen to him should he mess with me."

Leòwyn frowned, "If I am to use this as practice for Queenship, then I shall not let a Master of Ceremony too deep in his cup frighten me off."

Bertha blew an exasperated sigh out of her mouth, "Do-unt say I didn't warn ye, deary." Leòwyn smiled grimly and nodded.

Bertha swung the door open to the hut. They were immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer and sweat. At least the straw coating the floor was fresh, and the tables looked cleanly enough in the dim lights. Looking around, Leòwyn only noted a handful of patrons at scattered tables. The barkeep nodded his head Bertha and shot a questioning glance at Leowyn.

Bertha strode up to where the man was cleaning a clay mug with a dirty cloth and asked, "Where be Aescwine?"

The barkeep shot Leòwyn another glance before pointing a finger in the direction of the far corner without a word. His mannerism seemed decent enough to Leòwyn, who was not used to the deference that should be shown Royalty, but Bertha was having none of it.

"Eadbehrt, this is Lady Leòwyn, intended of Prince Théodred," the older woman shot him a withering glare for emphasis. With a hasty bow, the man quickly apologized.

Leòwyn could feel a blush heighten the color on her face but knew none could see in the dark room. She nodded her head in what she hoped was an elegant way and smiled to show him she had not taken his brush-off personally.

Bertha nodded with a huff before turning back to her original task. She began to make her way to the farthest corner in the place with Leòwyn one step behind. The light grew even dimmer as they approached the back of the establishment and Leòwyn thanked her Elvin eyesight once more. In the darkness she could just make out the slumped form of a man, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. A tankard of ale was resting just next to his fingertips.

With a loud rattle, Bertha slammed her hand down on the table next to the slumbering man's head. _Well, that wasn't a polite way to wake a man, especially a grumpy one_ Leòwyn thought.

A shaggy head jumped in alarm, hazy eyes coming to rest on the two women standing by the edge of the table. Bertha had her hands on her hips, a stern frown on her face. Leòwyn stood slightly behind her, her face carefully blank.

The moment Aescwine's gaze landed on her, Leòwyn watched a glint enter his eyes. She tensed.

"Well well, old woman. What have ya brought me today?" his words came out slurred and Bertha snarled at him. Leòwyn's eyes narrowed dangerously but the man did not seem to notice.

"Mind yerself Aescwine," Bertha warned. "Ye have the key to Edoras' cellars, aye?"

The man took one more extended look at Leòwyn, a leer on his face, before he acknowledged Berthas question with a grunt. One hand raised from his lap, a key dangling from a short leather rope.

As if he could sense her movement before she had even moved, he swiped the key out of view once more as Bertha took a half step forward. "Give it here, drunkard. Ye are hardly a trusted caretaker and we have need of it for when the King return to Edoras."

The man hiccupped, before taking a large swig of the warm beer in his mug. It sloshed over the rim and down over the hairs of his mustache. He gave a large belch before slamming it back down onto the abused table.

"One more ma good man," Aescwine shouted towards the barkeep.

"Why, I think ye've had enough," Bertha growled before waving the incoming barkeep away with one hand. The man retreated, confused.

"Why the hell didya go and do that?" He roared. Aescwine stood, hands propping his swaying body up on the table to lean down into the sturdy woman's face. Leòwyn wrinkled her nose at the smell coming off him and could only imagine how his breath smelled. Bertha's face gave nothing away.

"The key, Aescwine." Bertha repeated, hand raised outward palm up.

"I ain't givin' ye anythin' hag. Unless, the young lass would be willin' to trade sumthin', that is," he leered once more at her lithe body. Bertha's offended gasp echoed in Leòwyn's ringing ears.

Rage that she had not felt since the night in the caves consumed her. She could feel it pulsing in her veins as the man's beady eyes stared at her. With a savage grin, Leòwyn stepped in front of Bertha, close enough that the smell of the man almost bowled her over but she stood her ground.

The grin on Aescwine's face grew and one arm came up to paw at her, briefing touching her hair before Leowyn slammed her fist into his stomach. She hadn't held back her enhanced strength and had felt more than one rib crack under her knuckles. His foul breath came out in one massive gust as he folded.

Her hand burst with pain but she ignored it and shoved the feeling aside for now. As the man in front of her bent in half, grasping at his sides and gaping like a fish Leowyn leaned down and unsheathed her hunting knife from her side. Nowadays she carried it with her wherever she went. In case of emergencies, such as now.

Placing the large and deadly sharp buck killer uncomfortably close to his manhood, Leòwyn brought her lips to his ear, "You would do well to address me by my proper name. As such, I am Lady Leòwyn, Prince Théodred's betrothed."

The pig under her knife finally sucked in a breath and squeaked in surprise. Leòwyn gritted her teeth and put more pressure on the blade.

"Hand over the key, Master Aescwine. Or I shall relieved you of your precious bits," she growled deeply. Leòwyn didn't know it but Bertha was staring at her in awe. The young woman's hair had fallen to reveal her pointed ears and she was glowing slightly in the dim room. Her _Fea_ reacting to her anger.

The man quickly yanked the key from his trouser pocket and held it up for her, head bowed. Leòwyn watched as his arm shook and knew even drink would not be able to dull much of the pain from fractured ribs. Breathing must hurt.

Bertha stepped forward and grasped the key, jerking it from the numb fingers of the drunkard. Her face was one of malicious delight. Once Bertha had retreated a safe distance, Leòwyn commanded, "Sit down." The man did as told.

"I am going to release you. I wouldn't do anything rash, if I were you."

The man nodded, eyes filled with resentment trained on her face. Leòwyn sheathed her blade and danced back two steps with grace. With a mocking head bow, she turned and retreated, dragging Bertha in her wake. Right before she had stepped through the door, light shining on her from the bright sun outdoors, Leòwyn turned and directed her gaze to the back corner once more. Sunlight reflected in her cold blue eyes, giving them an otherworldly quality.

In a light voice pitched to carry, she address the Master of Ceremony's once more, "Oh and Master Aescwine. When my betrothed returns, I do believe I will petition that a new Master of Ceremony's is past due. He wouldn't want a man in that position who insinuated such things to his future bride, I am sure."

As if on a breeze, she whisked out of the door and back into the busy square. Leòwyn stopped a few paces from the door and took a deep breath, her face turned towards the sun and eyes closed. She felt her righteous anger begin to ebb but it was still uncomfortably close to the surface of her skin. It felt as if birds had been trapped under her skin, fluttering through her body. Her hands shook with repressed emotion as she fought to control her rage. Clenching her fist brought with it pain. Her right hand was in small agony, and as she gazed at it one of her knuckles looked oddly out of place. Leòwyn sighed, and knew she must visit the healing ward. Her eyes closed in exasperation.

Opening her eyes once more she was faced with Bertha. The old woman was still donning an intimidating smile that would have looked deranged on anyone else and swinging the key around on its rope.

"Ye sure are something special, ma lady" she held up the key triumphantly before tucking it into her bodice, the leather strap resting lightly around her neck. "I'll keep this safe fer ye, don't ya fret. Once we reach Edoras, everythin' will be set to rights for tha feast."

Leòwyn smiled, grateful. "Thank you Bertha, I could not have done it without your help."

The old woman waved her praise away, "Nun of that ya hear. Ya took care of that awful man, sure did. A fine Queen ye will make. And do'unt worry, I shall keep yer secret." She gestured to Leòwyn's still revealed pointed ears and winked.

Leòwyn gasped, covering her ears once more with her hair, a blush stealing over her tanned skin. "I would be indebted if you told no one. It is not a secret per say and I am in no way ashamed of my heritage," she stood straighter, "but Théodred's kin does not yet know. I would not have them finding out through wagging tongues."

The other woman nodded. "Like I said deary, ye shalln't hear a word from ma lips. It does explain much about ye though. An a word of advice from an old servant, tell em quickly. Nuthin' burns as fast as gossip in these parts."

Considering the matter closed, Bertha grinned and took Leòwyn's arm in hers, walking at a more sedated pace back to the Keep. The two women laughed quietly together as they reflected on the morning they had just had. Leòwyn felt a flush of belonging. She was beginning to feel at home around these people.

Leòwyn knew Théodred would have wanted her to be even more aggressive than she had been with the man. He believed that violence was only needed once to make a point, but not using violence when it was needed could cause many more issues. But she thought she had handled it diplomatically and hoped he would be proud of her.

She split ways with the maid once they had reached the Great Hall. Leòwyn decided to take Bertha's advice and went in search of the White Lady of Rohan.

She found Eòwyn in the Kitchens, Old Selwig nearby, ordering the food that would need to travel back to Edoras with the caravan leaving tomorrow. At Leowyn's entrance she nodded at the well-fed cook and grasped Leowyn's arm to walk side by side out of the kitchens and down the hall.

"Just the woman I was looking for," Eòwyn said, "How are the decorations and ale coming along?"

Leòwyn turned a mock glare on her friend. "You sent me up against Master Aescwine with no warning, Eòwyn. How shall I ever trust you again?"

Eòwyn laughed lightly, "And what did you think of our esteemed Master of Ceremony."

Leòwyn's face morphed into a deep grimace that caused Eòwyn's laugher to ring louder in the hall as they made their way back to Leòwyn's room. "Bertha has the key to the cellars in her possession for now. I do believe a new Master of Ceremony is in order."

Eòwyn's eyes went wide and she halted in her steps, turning to face Leòwyn. "What happened?" She was suddenly deeply worried, reflected in her gaze.

Leòwyn sighed and noticed they were but a few steps from her door. "Let us speak inside." She received a nod in return.

Both women seated themselves by the small fireplace, each with a glass of Eòwyn's favorite wine, before the White Lady once more raised her eyebrows at the woman opposite.

Leòwyn took a deep breath. Eòwyn was going to be highly displeased, as Leòwyn suspected Théodred would be as well.

"He propositioned me," she said lowly, keeping her eyes her cup. An extended silence followed, bringing Leòwyn's eyes up to Eòwyn's stormy face. The White Lady looked frightening.

Her blue eyes were narrowed with a dangerous glint in them, her brows furrowed and her mouth set in a firm line. _If this is what the orcs saw before their deaths, no wonder they were terrified,_ Leòwyn thought. Eòwyn's fingers were clenched so tightly around the mug of wine that Leowyn hoped she wouldn't shatter it and hurt herself.

"Tell me everything." It was a command and Leòwyn hastened to obey her livid friend.

At the end of her tale, Eòwyn's hands had slowly unclamped from around her cup and she was even able to take a few sips between her pinched lips. She looked sorrowfully at her dark haired friend.

"You did well, Leòwyn. I cannot imagine how you were able to stop yourself from gutting him like the pig he is. I apologize for putting you in this situation!" Eòwyn reached out a hand, one that Leòwyn grasped in return and they both shared an uncomfortable smile.

"Put it out of your mind Eòwyn, it is done. If the Valar are merciful, I shall never have to see Master Aescwine again."

"No you shall not. Théodred will make certain of that," Eòwyn clipped back. "In the meanwhile and on the journey back to Edoras, please do not venture alone. I do not know much of his personality but drunkards can be erratic." Leòwyn nodded.

"There is one last thing," she whispered, suddenly shy and fearing Eòwyn's response. The White Lady waited patiently.

"I have kept something of myself from you all. Théodred knows of course but I was waiting for the right time to speak with you and his kin," she said quickly. She noticed Eòwyn's confusion and sighed. Her hands twisted together in her lap. With one shaking hand, she slowly raised it to her hair and part the dark curls to show her pointed ear.

She rushed to explain. "I am not entirely human. I am also part-elf. My mother was of the Noble Race while my father was a Man. I was raised by my mother and I never knew my father. She raised me with the knowledge that there would be some who would despise me on the very premise that I am do not belong to one race. I am not ashamed of my parents, I loved my mother. But I have never had to tell anyone before and so I hesitated. I am sorry if this changes anything between us…" Leòwyn trailed off uncertainly, her eyes downcast. She did not want to see the rejection she was certain was harbored in Eòwyn's face.

Her body jerked in surprise when she heard laughter. She snapped her head upwards and brought her eyes to Eòwyn's. Leòwyn could hardly believe that the woman was laughing. Eòwyn clutched her stomach and beamed.

"That explains so much, my friend, you can hardly imagine!" She chuckled a few moments longer before sobering, a smile still stretching her face.

"Leòwyn, how could you believe I would shun you? Do you have such little faith in me? Or my kin?"

Leòwyn felt tears gather in her eyes. She shook her head and gave a watery smile. Eòwyn stood up and leaned down to wrap arms around her shoulders.

"You are the perfect match for my cousin, and he is smart enough to know it. Théodred does not mind you being elf and man, and neither do I," she said softly, "if anything, it endears me to you more. You might have some challenges ahead but if Uncle accepts you, as I am very certain he will, the others will fall in line."

Leòwyn sniffled and nodded. "Thank you."

Eòwyn nodded, releasing her from her hug and sat back across from her. She assessed the other woman for a long moment. "Now tell me, is it true elves have enhanced senses and a heightened healing ability? Are you stronger than a male man?" She fired off questions with gusto, her wine long forgotten in her hand.

Leòwyn laughed and felt her nerves ease. Answering Eòwyn's curious questions amused them for the remainder of the afternoon. As day fell into night, Eòwyn rose and gave her a departing hug.

"I will see you on the morrow. We leave for Edoras at dawn," Eòwyn waved behind her and swept out under the stone archway of Leòwyn's bed chamber door.

Leòwyn smiled and prepared herself to get a few hours of sleep before another journey began tomorrow. She was still flushed with relief and fondness for the only woman she had ever called friend. If the only people to accept her were Théodred, Eòwyn, and old Bertha, she promised herself she could be happy with that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

The two day journey back to Edoras went quickly for Leòwyn. She helped Eòwyn keep the long train of carriages and people together and moving at a good pace. Many times they were forced to rearrange the caravan to place the elderly or wounded at the head of the column. No one was to be left behind.

The time spent with the people of Rohan, her people, was eye-opening. Leòwyn was slowly coming used to the eyes on her at all times, and the random calls to her from those she did not know. Many just wished to feel as if Royalty cared about them, Eòwyn explained.

"Do they not care?" She had asked.

Eòwyn sighed. "Of course, we care. You are soon to be Royalty now as well, Leòwyn. We care. But Théoden King cannot spend his days walking the streets and spending as much time with the common folk as he might sometimes wish. There is the burden of the realm to carry. And that steals much time."

Leowyn had nodded. "Is there much to do as Queen? Surely, I can find some time to do so."

"There is much you do not see. The running of Meduseld takes a dedicated hand. I shall be handing many duties over to you once you and Théodred are wed."

Eòwyn smiled and told her not to fret. She had no doubt that Leòwyn would run a smooth household once properly trained. The thought still did not calm the uncomfortable feeling in the part-elf's stomach.

Soon enough in the distance rose the glint of gold and a cry rang out from the front of the caravan. Eòwyn and Leòwyn urged their horses into a gallop to join the vanguard. Leòwyn relished in the feeling of the brisk wind on her face and the smooth canter of the powerful horse beneath her.

Théodred had reclaimed his old warhorse, Brégo, from Lord Aragorn upon his return. Leòwyn had never witnessed a horse so happy to see his rider. The large bay horse had practically pranced around the Prince as a foal around its mother. She had watched her love feed the stallion a generous helping of carrots and knew the horse loved his spoiling.

She was riding Théodred's second remount, Felaròf, named after Eorl the Young's renowned steed. The stallion was a beautiful buckskin coloring with black socks that rose high on his legs. He was young, too young to be ridden into battle, but showed much promise with intelligent eyes and quick responses to his rider. The horse seemed to enjoy the relaxed pace and light touches of the Elvin Maiden.

Eòwyn was riding another of Théodred's remounts, Windfola. Leòwyn had shook her head at Théodred's insistence on them taking his steeds. At this moment, he had no remounts left that were adequately trained should he have need of one. Should Brégo fall.

He had smiled at her sweetly and said giving her Felaròf was one of the ways he assured himself she would be safe. He had explained that having a trained warhorse was much like having a trained warrior at her side. A warrior with heightened sense, and battle trained responses. Felaròf had already taken a likening to her as well, playfully chewing at her hair the first instance they had been introduced. Théodred has laughed heartily and took it as a good sign that the mighty tan horse would protect Leòwyn.

Eòwyn and Leòwyn reached the head of the column and slowed their mounts to a fast walk beside the handful of sentry's. The men saluted the White Lady of Rohan and the Princes Betrothed before falling silent once more.

Eòwyn spoke, "Berengar, we are within a candle marks ride of the Capital. Lady Leòwyn and I will ride ahead. There is much to prepare for the return of the King. See to it that the caravan is settled and find me once all is done."

The bear of a man on her right, dark hair flowing from under his helm, nodded, "Very well, ma Lady. Take Eòwig and Fardulf with you."

He called to two men further down the line of people and horses. Two Rohirrim, both on proud steeds, joined their captain.

"Escort Lady Eòwyn and the Princess safely to the city." At the title of Princess, Leòwyn started and stared wide-eyed at the hairy man. Her face was a mask of surprise. Berengar did not notice, too busy giving instructions to the two riders.

Eòwyn smothered a laugh in her cough before turning to Berengar with a wide grin, "Thank you, Captain."

With a sharp command, Windfola took off across the plains, toward the Golden Hall. Leòwyn was quick to spur Felaròf into a gallop a swell. As she felt the muscles of the warhorse beneath her stretch, she could hear the pounding hooves of the two riders behind her. She could feel the unbridled tension in the horse beneath her and knew exactly what the young horse wanted. To run freely.

She gave Felaròf his head and then bent to whisper in the horse's ear, _"Nor- like i thúl, mui meld er._" Her speech was in Sindarin and the elvish language floated wonderfully off her tongue. The horse under her must have felt the same.

He shook his mighty head and surged forward. She vaguely recognized the curses behind her as those of her guard and she felt momentary guilt. They were there to protect her she knew, and leaving them behind was hardly fair. She was on a royal mount after all. Only the most stunning and well-bred animals made it as a remount of the Prince. The horses the riders behind her were on horse flesh that was bred well enough for common riders but lacked quite a lot when compared to Felaròf or Windfola.

Leòwyn could see they were gaining ground quickly on Eòwyn and her mount. Felaròf was streaking across the plains, the walls of Edoras now clearly in sight. As Leowyn neared her friend she whistled clearly, giving both rider and mount a clear heads up. Eòwyn cast a look behind her, eyes widening at how close Leòwyn had gotten before spurring Windfola onto faster speeds. The grey horse strained forward.

Leòwyn laughed loudly before patting the buckskin she road. It was his signal to add even more speed. Théodred had told her that Felaròf enjoyed running more than any other horse he had ever seen with the exception of Shadowfax. And he had the speed and stamina to prove it. Leòwyn suspected that he had _Mereas_ blood in him, with his intelligence and physical prowess, but the Prince had not confirmed. To bestow such a gift would be considered a bride price and bordered on disgraceful for they were not engaged nor wed.

The warhorse surged powerfully to crest a small hill, on the heels of Windfola. As they drew alongside Eòwyn and Windfola, the White Lady threw an exasperated look at her friend, causing shared laughter. Eòwyn acknowledged that Leòwyn was astride the swifter horse with a nod but then nudged the sides of Windfola to continue their race. Leòwyn urged Felaròf onward.

With a cry, the gates of Edoras swung open, and the two riders pounded through the gate, Windfola trailing Felaròf by half a horse's length. The slowed their mounts through the streets, drawing the gaze of the few members of the city and riders that had stayed behind as an outpost.

The two women halted, sweaty and breathless, outside the Royal stables with large smiles plastered on their faces.

Stable hands quickly moved to take the reins as the two women swung down from their saddles, laughing as the rush of their race sped through their veins. Leòwyn turned towards Felaròf and received his pleased head nuzzle in her chest. The horse nickered as she whispered her praise in his ear, her head pressed against his cheek.

"Gave these ones a good run, did ya ma lady," Aethelaif, the Master of Horses smiled crookedly around a face scarred by an old sword slash that cut his face down the center.

"You know how much I enjoy a good race, Master Aethelaif," Eòwyn happily stated.

Turning towards Leòwyn she motioned the other women forward. Leowyn reluctantly stepped away from her new horse friend. "Master Aethelaif, this is Lady Leòwyn, a dear friend of mine and the bride of my cousin Prince Théodred."

The man let out a loud cheer and clapped his hands together happily.

"Ah ha! 'Tis about time tha boy found 'imself a wife. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance ma lady," the grisly old man bowed low, Leòwyn noted that his back leg seemed to be bent uncomfortably, as if scarred much like his face.

"Tho now I be seein' tha he far overreached 'imself. This be a prize more grand than even a Prince deserves. If ye be needin' a mount to run away, old Aetherlaif be the one to come too, ya hear," He winked at his own jest and Leòwyn could not help but laugh in return.

With loud shouts, the two riders that the women have left behind rode into the large square in front of the Royal Stables. One, a young light haired man with a grouchy face, swung down from his horse instantly and marched up to the women still speaking with the Stable Master.

"Lady Eòwyn, you cannot leave your escort so freely," The man barked.

At the sound of his voice both women and stable master turned towards him. The man bowed to Lady Eòwyn and begrudgingly to Leòwyn. She noted that Eòwyn's face began to redden, in anger or embarrassment Leòwyn could not tell. She also noted with a small frown that the bow to her had no deference in it, almost as if he did not think she deserved it. She flicked her eyes over to the rider still mounted and noticed his uncomfortable expression.

"These are dangerous times and we are assigned to your protection my lady," he continued.

Turning her eyes back to Eòwyn, Leòwyn watched her friend's mouth set into a hard line and prepared herself to stop any confrontation. Before Eòwyn could reply however, a deep scoff drew all of their attention. Master Aetherlaif was standing to Leòwyn's right, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Deep blue eyes blazed at the rider.

In a voice close to a snarl, the seasoned warrior and horse handler addressed the warrior, "An' who are ye sonny? Where do ye get off, speakin' to a woman, much less a member of the Royal house, tha way?"

The rider started slightly, his face turning into a mask of surprise. "Master Aetherlaif," he bowed to the Stable Master of Edoras, "I am Fardulf, son of Farhilt." The Stable master continued to level an unimpressed stare at the rider.

"Tha cannot be. No son of Farhilt would show such ill-manners to tha White Lady o' Rohan."

It was the riders turn to blush deeply, eyes flicking to the ground. With a sigh, all the anger seeming to drain out of him, Fardulf turned back to Eowyn and bowed deeply, "Lady Eòwyn, please forgive my behavior. I was carried away by my anger."

Eòwyn stood unmoving, staring at the rider who had dared reprimand her in public and slowly unfolded her arms. She nodded, "Do not make this mistake again Fardulf, son of Farhilt. You are forgiven and I apologize also, for behaving recklessly. I cannot say it will not happen again but I shall endeavor to give you warning next time." She smiled slightly.

The man relaxed, his shoulder heaving forward as he breathed deeply. His head bobbed , seemly satisfied. Leòwyn eyed him carefully, on edge, in case he decided to scold her as well. The man seemed determined to ignore her however, which suited her fine.

"Now, ye two with me," Master Aetherlaif pointed to Fardulf and the rider still on his mount, Eòwig, Leowyn remembered his name to be. "Since ye have lost sight of yer place, ye will be groomin' horses 'til yer arms fall off. Get to it, an start with tha Ladies horses."

The older man winked and bowed to both women once more before turning and motioning for the young riders to follow.

Eòwig dismounted and walking over to Fardulf, smacked the back of his head quite harshly. Leòwyn had to cover her smile under her hand as the two bickered back and forth in harsh whispers, following after the Master of Horses. As Eòwig passed between Eòwyn and herself, he dipped his head at Leòwyn, an apologetic smile on his face.

Leòwyn smiled back. Her elvin eyesight caught his eyes widen for a split second before he was past her, his horse following docilely. She turned towards her friend.

Eòwyn still looked grumpy, a frown on her face and arms crossed. "I wanted to rub Windfola down myself." She grumbled, causing Leòwyn to laugh happily.

"Come Eòwyn, we have much to get done remember," Leòwyn took ahold of the White Lady's arm and dragged her towards Meduseld. "What shall we start with first?"

Eòwyn sighed, "Well, the Hall will need to be cleaned and then arranged for a feast. More tables and benches will have to be hauled inside. Food should be preparing as this happens and then decorations. Can we trust Bertha to handle the spirits?"

Leòwyn nodded resolutely. Eòwyn continued, "After all preparations are made, we must go over the tradition of an Honor Feast." She eyed the brunette quietly. "You shall have a big part I suspect, Leòwyn."

"Whatever do you mean?" the woman asked.

"You are to be married to Théodred very soon I suspect if what Uncle ordered be true," Eòwyn smiled at Leòwyn's worried face.

"Do not fret! It is good news. Uncle has ordered more food and ale than needed for one feast, considering our losses. I do believe he means to have your engagement celebration in the days following. And then the wedding, if all goes well."

Leòwyn puffed out her cheeks with air. She had never expected things to move so quickly after she had agreed to marry Théodred. Not that she was having second thoughts but Leòwyn hadn't had time to process the changes happening so rapidly. She knew she wasn't the only one if the look on Eòwyn's face was anything to judge.

"Do you think I will make a good Queen?" she spoke quietly. They had just reached the steps of the Golden hall and Eòwyn spun her by the shoulders to face her.

The White Lady leveled a deadly stare at her friend. "Do not ever doubt yourself Leòwyn. You are more capable than even you know. And you will have Théodred and myself to help you with anything."

Leòwyn nodded. "What if the people do not approve? I have noticed some look at me as if I do not belong."

"The people will be hesitant. That is their way. Our culture is wary of strangers and though you look like us you are not yet one of us. When you are finally wed, you will be our Princess and then Queen. Théodred's love is enough to give you the right to be here. Do not let anything compete with that knowledge." Eòwyn spoke in low tones, her hands on Leòwyn's shoulders and Leòwyn could feel her spirits lift.

Eòwyn was right and she would prove to her people that she deserved their love and devotion as their Princess. But first she must become their Princess.

"What must I do?"

Eòwyn launched into a detailed description of the events that would take place as soon as the King and his fellowship returned from Isengard. Leòwyn could almost feel the pressure as a physical entity. It was almost enough to make her sick.

That night, after much preparation had been done for the feast in two days' time and the caravan with the other refugees had finally arrived in the city, Leòwyn found herself unable to sleep. Her open eyes stared at the black ceiling, her mind unable to rest. With a sigh, the woman pushed herself out of bed and lit a lantern by her bedside. Dressed in only her long nightgown and slippers, Leòwyn excited her room and made her way to the kitchens.

She did not expect anyone to be awake at this time and was therefore surprised by the presence of a very much awake Selwig, head cook of the Royal Hall. Leòwyn smiled slightly at the man, whose fearsome reputation garnered him few friends, and stepped into the light of the fire.

Selwig scrutinized her for a split moment before turning back to his mug, from which Leòwyn could smell a delicious scent wafting.

"Good evening, Master Cook," she spoke lightly.

Selwig's eyes rotated back to her face and he nodded. "Well met, my lady. Can I get you anything?"

Leòwyn sighed heavily, "I cannot seem to sleep. Would you mind company?"

The older, red faced man shook his head negative before heaving his girth up from his chair and scooting around the corner of the kitchen. He came back with another mug of steaming milk and cocoa and a wooden chair. He placed the chair next to his, in front of the fire, and handed the mug to Leowyn.

With a small smile, she placed herself in the chair and took a small sip of the hot beverage. With a surprised laugh she caught the look Selwig shot her. He seemed to be judging her reaction.

"This is delicious, Master Selwig. I don't believe I have ever had anything as sweet," she stated, taking another sip. Leòwyn's eyes closed in delight as the flavors swirled around her tongue. Even the borderline scalding liquid did not stop her from drinking the wonderful brew.

A small smile stretched Selwig's face and he raised his own mug in salute, "Thank ya kindly, lady."

They sat in comfortable silence until both their mugs were finished and Selwig stood. With a bow, he took her mug from her hands and bid her goodnight. Leòwyn watched him go, two mugs and a chair in his arms, before turning back to the fire. She felt content and less restless.

Thinking it might be time to try to sleep once more, she stood and placed her chair out of the walking path before turning and walking back to her dark rooms. Leòwyn felt a chill start to enter her bones and quickly crawled back under her blankets. Within moments she was asleep, the only sound being her soft breathing filling the room.

Leòwyn woke with a start as a hand landed on her shoulder. She had not heard the door to her chambers swing open nor Eòwyn call her name.

"Leòwyn, are you well?" the small hand came to rest against her forehead.

With a groan, Leòwyn sat up, and nodded. "I couldn't sleep and I must have finally fallen asleep sometime after midnight."

Eòwyn was still frowning at her, "If you need, I can make the final preparations alone."

Leòwyn shook her head, "No, I will be well as soon as I eat I think. I will meet you in the Hall." She smiled at her worried friend.

Once Eòwyn had left, she called for her maid to come help her lace up the back of a beautiful yellow dress, another of Eòwyn's, and to braid her hair in the loose style she preferred. Leòwyn splashed some water on her face before venturing to the Great Hall to break her fast.

She found Eòwyn speaking with a few of the Halls head servants and pointing at places she wanted decorations hung. Leòwyn sighed and realized Eòwyn had given her decorations and she had already failed. She sat herself at one of the extra-long tables that had been brought in for the feast.

A servant quickly brought over a bowl of porridge with a large amount of honey and dried fruit on it. Just the way Leòwyn liked it. With a smile she thanked the young girl who bobbed a curtsy before running off.

Eòwyn joined her after a few moments. "Are you sure you don't need a day to recover Leòwyn? I can hardly blame you. It has been man a night since I have slept restfully."

Leòwyn waved her concern away with a bruised hand. Her knuckle was still healing from punching the Master of Ceremony. She swallowed her mouthful of porridge before piercing Eòwyn with a look.

"Stop worrying about me, Eòwyn. We have a lot more to worry about than losing some sleep. The King and his party will be arriving tomorrow. There is no time to take a break."

Eòwyn grimaced but nodded. "Once you are finished, we must researched the traditions of a betrothal ceremony. I have seen many Rohirrim weddings. I have never witnessed a betrothal ceremony since they are usually reserved for Nobility."

Leòwyn nodded, a lump now stuck in her throat. She pushed away her half-eaten bowl and stood. Eòwyn frowned at her. "Oh no. I shall not be moving from this spot until you finish your meal. I will not get a tongue lashing from your betrothed should he find that you have not been eating."

Leòwyn rolled her eyes, but the humor sparkling in Eòwyn's eyes helped her push past the nauseous feeling. She sat once more and finished her bowl, even scraping the sides with her spoon for emphasis. Eòwyn laughed at her before standing and practically dragging her by the arm to the Royal library.

"Now, if we can apply ourselves and complete this task with enough time, I know Windfola and Felaròf are waiting for a ride." That was all the convincing Leòwyn needed to start pulling related books off the shelves. Her mother had taught her how to read in both Westron and Sindarin.

The women toiled away the hours in the small library, Eòwyn studiously taking notes of the highlights of a betrothal ceremony and the preparations they would need to make. With a creak of leather and a slap of pages meeting each other, Eòwyn closed her last book drawing the attention of Leòwyn who was busy researching the duties of the Queen of Rohan.

"I have gotten all I have need of. Are you finished?" Eòwyn asked.

"May I take this book out of here, Eòwyn?" Leòwyn responded. The current book she was cradling was the account of Hildegard, Queen of Rohan during the reign of Fengel in 2898 of the Third Age.

Eòwyn shrugged, "I do not think anyone will care one way or another, my friend. These books have not been touched in ages, since the time of Thengel King, Uncles father."

Leòwyn smiled and hugged the book to her chest. "Let me place this in my chambers and I will meet you in the stables." Leòwyn could see the excited energy running through her friend already and laughed as she rushed out of the study.

With swift strides, Leòwyn reached her bedchamber, placing the book carefully on her bedside table before changing quickly into her old breeches, tunic, and long boots. With practiced ease, she strapped her hunting knife to her belt and slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder. They would not be venturing far from Edoras but in these times it was better to be prepared than not.

Eòwyn was waiting for her, the reins of two saddled horses in her hands. With a heartfelt greeting, Felaròf rubbed his large head across her chest, leaving small black and tan hairs on her tunic. Leòwyn laughed and its bell like quality carried it far across the square.

The Stable Master hailed them from afar and limped over with a grin. "These two'uns were waitin' fer ye two. Specially ole Felaròf here."

He patted a gnarled hand against the stallion's neck. "He 'as found his rider." The man pointed at Leòwyn and smiled before turning a limping off towards the stables. They could hear him snapping orders at others.

Leòwyn couldn't help the large smile on her face. Felaròf had seemed to take a liking to her and her to him but she had not wanted to assume that meant any type of bond as close as a rider and horse. Eòwyn congratulated her before climbing onto Windfola's back and leading the way through the city to the gate and from there to the fields surrounding Edoras.

She hoped Theodred would not be too upset that one of his remounts had chosen her as his rider. In Rohan, when a horse chose a rider, it was a bond of life and Felaròf would allow few others to travel on his back.

"Why do you look like you've swallowed a firebug?" Eòwyn asked, dropping back to ride beside Leòwyn.

"Do you think Théodred will mind what Master Aethelaif said?" She asked, directing her gaze to Eowyn, who look even more dashing than normal in her brown trousers and white flowing shirt.

Eòwyn shook her head, "I think Théodred might have known this was to be. Otherwise why would he give you Felaròf and not Windfola? Technically Windfola is a seasoned battle horse and much better protection than Felaròf who is untested."

Leòwyn considered her words and knew they rang with truth. Somehow her beloved had known the connection that was to be between Felaròf and herself. Maybe Théodred was more aware of such things than Leòwyn had thought. She knew she would have to tell him about their connection soon, if he did not already know it.

With a smile, Leòwyn leaned down to pat her stallion's strong neck and looked at Eòwyn with a spark in her eye. Eòwyn's grin widened in response before she nudged Windfola into a canter.

The two women raced across the plains in small competitions. Sometimes Windfola and Eòwyn were able to nudge Leòwyn and Felaròf out to win but for the majority of the time they spent on the plains, the darker colored pair won.

Too soon they were forced to turn towards the hall that glinted lowly in the distance. Night was falling quickly and it was not safe to be outside the gates after the sun departed. As they cantered back towards Edoras, Leòwyn noticed that Felaròf had his ears pointed to the side and seemed to be focusing on something behind them. A shared glance at Eòwyn saw that the White Lady was also paying close attention to the signs of her steed.

Eòwyn caught her eye and suddenly a loud howl cut through the night. Leòwyn froze onto of Felaròf. The lone howl had been answered by many more, and had sounded to be all around them. With a quick word, both horses took off into the night. Felaròf and Windfola pounded as fast as their feet would carry them, urged faster by the sound of the wolf pack hunting them.

Leòwyn could feel her heart beat in her ears, a rushing thud that distracted her from her fear. With a steadying breath she released her handhold on Felaròf's reins and felt his automatic adjustment to follow the signals of her legs. In a swift movement, she brought her bow from around her back and notched an arrow.

Leòwyn could hear the rapid breathing of the wolves that were close behind them. Looking over her should she noticed one was almost close enough to nip at Windfola's hind leg. She rotated smoothly in her seat and took aim.

Leòwyn had never shot from a moving horse to another moving target but as she felt the unforgiving wood and tight string under her finger tips she lost herself and let the arrow fly, guiding it with her mind. As it left her string she knew it was a perfect shot. The silver blur behind Eòwyn's surging warhorse crumbled with a whimper.

Leòwyn made two more shots, only one taking down another predator before she was ripped from her seat by a flying muscular body. Fur and claws impacted her side and sent her careening off Felaròf and into the hard dirt, a loud scream ripping from her throat. Her lungs screamed as the air was forced from her body.

Leòwyn was dazed, laying on the ground when she noticed eyes pacing toward her. There were multiple sets and her mind yelled danger but her body was unable to adjust in time. Just as the eyes solidified into a vicious snout with razor teeth bared and snarling, Leòwyn heard a loud horse scream and her mount came stamping and kicking to stand in front of her.

Felaròf's head was lowered and as the wolves gathered the courage to approach the wild warhorse, they were scattered once more as Eòwyn and Windfola came streaming into their midst, a steel blade flashing in response to howls. Leòwyn was finally able to get her limbs to respond to her commands and stood shakily, using Felaròf's side as help to climb onto his back. He stood solidly, even surrounded by enemies, and only moved once she was settled into her saddle.

Using her legs, as her right arm was needed to cradle her injured left, she steered Felaròf back towards Edoras and shouted for Eòwyn. Eòwyn, noticing she was once more seated, broke off her engagement of the wolf pack and spurred Windfola to come alongside Felaròf.

The two horses raced back to Edoras, the wolf pack now hanging back having deemed their intended targets to be too much effort. As they sped through the gates to the city, the horses slowed to a trot which still sent spikes of pain through Leòwyn's shoulder.

As they stopped dead in front of the Stables, two stables hands rushing to take the horse, E Eòwyn moved to Leòwyn's side to help her down.

"What were wolves doing on the open plains? They haven't been seen in this region in ages."

Leòwyn made a noncommittal grunt before hissing through her teeth as her feet made contact with the rough dirt. Eòwyn's arm came to help her cradle her sprained shoulder.

"Let's get you to see the healers. That was quite a fall." Eòwyn stated, moving slowly to accommodate the pace Leòwyn set. Each footfall made her grit her teeth in pain.

"Felaròf and Windfola?" she asked.

Eòwyn tutted, "They are just fine. A few scratches, nothing to be concerned over."

Leòwyn raised her head, "You?"

Eòwyn's face softened and she smiled lowly, "I am well, my friend. You saved my life with that first shot. Now, kindly worry about yourself." Leòwyn was able to grin around her grimace before facing forward once more.

Once Leòwyn was seated on a cot, and a healer, in all white, was prodding her shoulder which Leòwyn knew was only out of the socket, Eòwyn spoke again. "How is it that you are always the one who gets hurt?"

Leòwyn smiled ruefully, "I have an Elf's grace and a human's clumsiness."

Eòwyn snorted at the accurate description. Her humor quickly turned sour as the healer popped Leòwyn's shoulder back into its correct place and the small scream that escaped her friend sounded tortured.

With deep breaths Leòwyn was able to allow the pain to recede. She nodded to the healer who made fine work of wrapping her shoulder and placing her arm in a sling to bind it to her chest. She would need to wear the sling for the first few days. Leòwyn rolled her eyes but nodded. Her Elvin healing ability would see this healed in less than a week.

As Leòwyn huffed in annoyance as the healer insisted she stay the night, Eòwyn laughed but agreed.

"Do not cause me anymore worry. I cannot handle much more tonight." The White Lady of Rohan even added puppy dog eyes to complete the bribe. Leòwyn scowled at her in jest.

"Fine. I will stay. But one night only, and I do not want anyone to know I was here. Understood? Not even Théodred is to know."

Eòwyn nodded and gave Leòwyn a small hug. "I am relieved that you were not hurt too badly, my friend. And I once again owe you for saving my life."

Leòwyn shook her head and shooed the White Lady out of her healing room. "Leave me be, Lady in White. I will see you tomorrow for the Kings arrival." Eòwyn grinned and retreated out of the room, her heeled boots echoing on the stones as she strode down the hall and out of sight.

* * *

_"Nor- like i thúl, mui meld er._" Run like the wind, my dear one.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Leòwyn awoke with a stiff neck, from sleeping in a sitting position on the healing cot. She hissed as she sat up slowly, rotating her neck from side to side. Her arm was still pinned to her side, and throbbed dully. She had dreamed of wolves and eyes in the dark, preventing much restful sleep but that could not be helped now.

Looking down at her crumpled clothing, Leòwyn decided she was in much need of a bath and a fresh dress. The King's party would be arriving home from their journey to Isengard and she would need to be alongside Eòwyn to welcome them.

Heaving her body up awkwardly from the uncomfortable cot, her lashed arm throwing off her balance, Leòwyn went in search of a healer. She needed this sling off to properly prepare herself and she would not be in a sling when Théodred returned. He worried about her enough, when he should be worrying about himself.

Her healer, Céolith, was starkly unhappy with her request but consented should she promise not to jostle her arm too much. The joint and muscles were still inflamed and the pain of lowering her arm almost had Leòwyn asking for the sling back. But the only way for it to heal naturally in place was for the arm to hang and so she gritted her teeth and made her way, slowly, back to her chambers. Her steps were carefully placed and slow to accommodate for her useless arm.

By the time she had made her way through the corridors, Eòwyn was waiting for her as she approached her room. The impatient look on her face was a tell all.

"Leòwyn, of all days to be late! Where have you been? I stopped by the healing ward and they had said you already left. But when I arrived at your door, you were not in." Her cornflower blue eyes demanded an explanation.

Leòwyn smiled and unconsciously her other arm came up to cradle her injured shoulder. Eòwyn noted it with another, deeper frown. She spoke before the brunette could get a word past her lips.

"And where is your sling?"

"I requested the healer to take it off. I do not wish Théodred to see. That was the reason I was so late through the halls, I was extra careful as I promised Céolith." Leòwyn sighed.

The other woman rolled her eyes, "My cousin will be more upset if it isn't wrapped and does not heal properly from your own stubbornness. You are a healer for Bema's sake! Now get in here. There is a bath awaiting your arrival, and if you are quick it will still be warm."

Leòwyn meekly bobbed her head and did as she was bid. Her maid helped her quickly strip. The water was indeed still warm and she sank happily into its midst. It was soothing to her shoulder as well. She closed her eyes happily and rested her head against the large tub.

"Do not dawdle, Leòwyn! We have awaiting us this day. Healer Céolith is also here to wrap your arm once more."

Eòwyn's loud voice snapped Leòwyn's eyes open and she groaned but could hear the edge of steel in her friend's voice. The White Lady was not in the mood for an argument. There would be no getting out of this and if she was honest with herself she would have acknowledge that the throbbing in her shoulder was extremely uncomfortable and distracting her from all other thoughts.

With the help of her maid, Arélene, she was able to bathe, and change into a rich green velvet dress. The sleeves were shorter and tight against her skin, in an older style, but allowed for her arm to be comfortably strapped to her side once more. The neckline was also embroidered with spun gold and she felt very opulent.

As Céolith was seeing to her shoulder, Arélene finished her hair, plaiting in it a beautiful side braid that collected her mass of chocolate curls over her shoulder and down her chest.

Eòwyn was standing to her side, smiling lightly, before clapping her hands sharply. The other women retreated out the door of her bedchamber, their whispered mutterings reaching Leowyn's sensitive ears. She blushed as they were discussing how Prince Theodred would react when he saw how beautiful his bride was.

She looked back at her reflection in the small mirror. She did indeed barely recognize herself. Leòwyn tore her eyes away from the way the beautiful green color of the dress made her lightly tanned skin glow and her eyes practically shine to meet the woman's gaze. At Eòwyn's starry look she cocked an eyebrow.

"Eòwyn, is everything alright?" she asked. Eòwyn locked eyes with her through the mirror and nodded but remained silent. She kept her thoughts to herself for the moment.

"Let us go, while you were bathing a sentry reported sighting the party within a candle marks ride. We shall hardly need to wait."

With that Eòwyn turned and strode to the door, her white dress flowing at her ankles. She looked back, handle on the door, and smiled. As if she could hear Leòwyn's racing thoughts she spoke. Leòwyn supposed her excitement might be pouring from her skin any moment. Théodred had only been gone for less than a fortnight but she couldn't wait to be in his arms once more.

"You look beautiful, my friend. And my cousin is a lucky man. Even with that ghastly white sling," the trill of laughter after soothed the pain of the sting at the jab at her bound arm.

Leòwyn laughed along with her friend, her face trying to frown but failing. She couldn't very well be angry with Eòwyn. She had spoken the truth but having it out there instead of locked in her head actually allowed her mind to settle.

With purposeful strides, the two women paced towards the Great Hall of Meduseld where they would await the official party of the King. Eòwyn's arm was gripping Leòwyn's good one rather tightly and Leòwyn wondered if she wasn't as nervous as well. Eòwyn was seeing the return of Lord Aragorn.

With a side eye, "You look beautiful, my friend. And Lord Aragorn is a lucky man. Even with such a horrible grip you have." She held in her humor as she watched Eòwyn's face flame red.

Then the White Lady did something that shocked Leòwyn. She stuck her tongue out and crinkled her face in an act of playfulness that did not reflect her age. They had just reached the Great Hall when Leòwyn's laughter burst from her lips and filled the air with a lighthearted feeling.

The two women were soon lost in their humor, hands clenching each other as they laughed with heads thrown back. For a moment, the air in the Great Hall seemed less oppressive and the world was not filled with so much darkness.

A horn sounding beyond the wooden doors abruptly stopped their laughter as they rushed to claim the steps. At Eòwyn's hand wave, two door wardens pushed through the crowd that had gathered the top of the Great Hall stairs so that the two women were standing in a place of honor, awaiting the arrival of the war party.

Two lines of horses could be seen entering the large, wooden gates at the entrance to the city of Edoras. At the head of the column was a large grey charger, carrying the colors of the King, and an even larger bay stallion. The two proud animals paced in sync. The two men riding such enormous beasts were of the same coloring, the youngest seated straighter in his saddle but there was a regal essence Leòwyn could sense around the smaller form.

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes glued themselves to the face of her Prince. She felt her own_ Fea_ reach out towards his. She had not felt whole since he had departed.

Théodred was already scanning the crowd, and when his gaze landed on her she saw a large smile stretch his scruffy face. It was followed shortly by a small frown but his smile diminished for a heartbeat before stretching once more. He had seen her sling but Leòwyn couldn't find it in herself to worry. She was filled with too much joy. She could feel her cheeks pulling as her own smile matched his. Théodred looked ready to vault off his charger any moment.

As the company came to a halt, that is exactly what the Prince of Rohan did. Brego had planted his feet as he felt his rider shift weight and stood unmoving as Théodred's bulk catapulted from the saddle. Once his booted feet hit the ground, he was swiftly moving up the stairs towards her, leaving his father and the rest of the arriving party to follow in his wake. She knew that he was breaking protocol but by the small smile on the King's face, that she could just see, she knew he did not mind. If Théoden King did not object than neither would anyone else.

Her attention snapped back to the man taking the stairs two at a time. Leòwyn could feel the pounding of her blood in her veins as he drew closer.

Théodred halted on the step below her, so that their heads were more even than if he was standing on the same level as her. The bright smile had not left his face and Leòwyn could not stop staring at his lips. As if reading her mind, he leaned down and kissed her gently. One arm came up to bring her closer to him by wrapping around her back and the other gently touched her elbow, wrapped in white cloth.

Leòwyn heard the rush of voices around her, happy mutterings, and blushed slightly but kissed his back passionately. She did not care that they were surrounded by many others. All that mattered in the present was his soft lips on hers. Her body reacted the same way it always did, a chill running through her body and her nerves on fire. She silently thanked the Valar for the thick material of her dress as her nipples hardened.

Théodred broke the kiss off and reluctantly pulled away. He stepped up to the final stair and kept his arm around her lower back. Leòwyn leaned into his warmth and sighed happily. She felt his lips brush the top of her head and his warm breath on her skin. She noticed that the attention of the crowd was no longer on her and Théodred but on the arrival of the King as he made his way up the multitude of stairs. The war party followed in his wake, talking amongst themselves.

"I've missed you, my sweet." His voice was pitched low to carry only to her. Leòwyn's smile grew wider, her straight teeth shining. She tilted her head to the side and replied.

"Well, I have had Eòwyn to keep me plenty busy, I hardly noticed your absence."

Théodred gasped in mock horror before gripping her waist tightly in both hands, "Is that so? We will have to fix that. I cannot have my bride not missing my presence the way I missed hers."

The promise in his voice made Leòwyn weak at the knees. He chuckled as she leaned back even further into his embrace. "Are you sure you did not miss me?" He goaded.

Leòwyn threw a look over her shoulder, and cast her gaze skyward with a look of slight concentration. "It is possible I missed you just slightly." She grinned coyly and Théodred laughed loudly.

Gazes were once more cast their way, smiles appearing on some faces before the King passed them with a look and they fell in line behind him. Théodred took possession of her healthy arm and placing it in his.

He leaned down as they followed slowly behind the King, who was greeting those inside the Hall now. "How is it that when I am gone, you always seem to become injured?"

Leòwyn flicked a glance at his face before turning forward again. She could feel his eyes on her and she reveled in it. "I am afraid Lord Prince that these stories will cost you."

She cast him another look and she caught his surprise and pleasure. The fire in her was stoked higher.

They were both distracted again by the King addressing the Hall. "Honored Guests, I thank you for the kind welcome. The Battle of Helm's Deep with become known as a field of Victory against the enemies of Rohan. Our losses were great but Man prevailed over beast. In honor of those we lost, there will be a feast held tonight. All are welcome. Please go about your business."

A great cry rose to the rafters and then lowered to a hum of activity as servants and the like scattered back to complete final tasks before tonight. Théodred moved them forward to bring her to stand before Théoden King.

The King noticed her immediately, turning away from his advisors, one in a completely white ensemble.

"Well met once more Lady Leòwyn. I hope your journey here was uneventful. Child, what happened to your arm?" The King was calm but there was a spark in his eye that told differently.

Leòwyn curtsied, her head bent before rising, "My Lord, it was an unfortunate accident that could not be avoided however I am healing quickly." She could almost feel Théodred's silent scoff.

Eòwyn chose this moment to step forward. "Uncle, Leòwyn saved my life from a pack of wolves on the plains not but yesterday. We were beset on a leisurely ride and she killed two of them before being thrown from her saddle."

"Wolves!" Théoden spoke at the same time as his son.

"Felaròf threw you?" Théodred sounded ready to shackle the horse.

Leòwyn shook her head desperately, turning back and forth between the livid Prince and the King.

"No! Felaròf did not throw me. A wolf tackled me off his back. I was injured in the fall, and Felaròf protected me from the wolves until I could regain my senses. Eòwyn also saved my life in return." She grimaced as her excitement caused her shoulder to throb. She threw an annoyed glance at Eòwyn for starting this mess and got a smirk in return.

Théodred stepped forward and raised her other hand, still bruised purple from her encounter with the Master of Ceremony.

"And this?" he asked, voice quiet. Leòwyn could sense his anger, bubbling beneath the surface and also knew that he would know what a broken knuckle from hitting someone looked like.

She pushed her shoulders back and straightened her spine, ignoring the bolt of pain that struck her from the movement. She did not want to see the murder in his eyes so she looked at the King instead of at Théodred's face.

"Sire, your Master of Ceremony propositioned me. So I punched him and broke my hand."

Théoden King's face hardened and a dangerous glint entered his eye. "Did he now? This is a serious accusation Lady Leòwyn. Is there one to confirm this?"

Leòwyn nodded, "Bertha, one of the kitchen maids."

Théoden glanced to the side and flicked his head at the rider standing at his shoulder. In a flurry of green, the cloaked warrior disappeared in search of Bertha, Leòwyn presumed.

"Eòmer, bring me Aescwine."

Eòwyn's brother, whose face resembled the King's stalked off with deadly intent. He looked every bit like a plains Lion hunting its prey. Leòwyn almost felt sorry for the man she had inflicted much pain on but as she remembered his words her pity died.

She finally gathered her courage and looked towards his face. Théodred was looking at the floor, his hands clenched at his sides and slightly vibrating with his anger. His face was a stormy mask of aggression.

Leòwyn stepped closer to him and grasped his left hand with her good hand. As soon as her skin touched his, Théodred's eyes rose to meet her and she smiled, her head cocked to the left. His eyes were dark with rage as they assessed her face and then down to her shoulder and bruised hand resting on his.

Théodred suddenly sprang forward and wrapped her in an embrace, her head coming to rest over his heart and his head leaning down to bury his face in her hair. He held her tightly but also paid a considerable about of attention to how gently she was resting against his frame. His actions warmed her heart, as even in his anger he was worried about causing her pain.

She returned his embrace as well as she was able with one arm caged as it was. She buried her head into his tunic and breathed deeply. Leowyn felt her nerves calm for the moment as his scent enveloped her.

She could hear Théodred having a conversation with his father over her head but she was quickly tiring and Théodred was delightfully warm. She had almost fell into a floating trance, standing up when with a loud bang the Great Hall doors sprung open.

Those doors were made of solid wood and were extremely heavy. To fling them open with such force would take a lot of power. Leòwyn raised her head from Théodred's chest and looked in the direction the entire hall was focused on. Eòmer was stalking down the length of the hall.

A figure she recognized as Lord Aragorn had detached himself from a group of men in the far corner and followed in the wake of the livid Rohirrim. Soon enough Eòmer had gathered a following of soldiers and members of the company that had just arrived with the King. Théoden King watched them approach.

Eòmer was storming towards the dais, his large hand clamped around the tunic of a much smaller man. The smaller form was scrambling to not be dragged and failing miserably, his boots fumbling on the smooth stone. Leòwyn knew immediately who it was. Master Aescwine had a rapidly purpling bruise on his cheekbone and Leòwyn had a firm idea of who had caused it.

She looked at Eòmer with appreciation as he approached and received a nod in return. He flung the trembling form of the Master of Ceremony on the hard ground at Théoden King's feet and stepped back, arms flexing to cross over a muscular chest.

With a low moan, the pitiful Master of Ceremony rose slowly, cradling his stomach. Leòwyn felt a pang of some emotion she could not label as she realized his ribs were probably still broken.

"Master Aescwine," The King spoke, face coolly blank, "You have been brought before the throne to answer the charges of solicitation on a member of the Royal Family. What say you?"

Slowly, as if in great pain, and gasping Aescwine stood straight and faced the King. "Sire, I kno of no Royalty sides yerself and the Prince, ma lord. Who be ma accuser?"

Théoden stared at him and lowered his voice, "How did you injure yourself Aescwine? Surely your ribs are broken. Speak carefully."

The man looked around doggedly, meeting no one's eye but gazing at the gathering around him. The crowd had swelled considerably, and with that Leòwyn made the decision to step out of Théodred's arms and present herself boldly. Her knees quaked but she buried her fear behind an indifferent mask, clasping her trembling hands together in front of her, and stared at the Master of Ceremony. She knew Théodred was standing just behind her and that gave her courage.

"I am your accuser, Master Aescwine." Her voice rang clear and calm, to her shock, but she kept her face blank with enormous willpower.

The man practically snarled like a rabid dog, his face reddening rapidly as he sighted her. With a stumbling step he lunged towards her, only to be restrained by two of the King's guard.

"Ya bitch! Ye broke my ribs, an' attacked a member of the Royal staff. It t'was her ma lord. She be the one who attacked me," he spit.

With wild eyes, the man wrestled his arms from the guards but did not try to move toward her again. Still, the men in green cloaks stayed close with arms prepared to wrangle his form once more.

Leòwyn heard a rumble from behind her. "Did you or did you not proposition Lady Leòwyn, filth?"

Théodred's voice was deep with rage. At his address, Master Aescwine's mouth opened like a fish to gap at the large figure behind Leòwyn's shoulder.

"I would never, ma lord!" the man puffed, his eyes shifting shadily. There was silence in the hall. Even the hunting dogs near the fire seemed to still. She heard Théodred's lungs fill with air to reply.

"Liar! Ye are a dog, Aescwine."

A loud, brittle voice sounded from Leòwyn's right. Turning, she felt the air leave her lungs in relief when she spotted Bertha. Bertha had stepped forward into the ring of people. The old maid was almost as red as the man being accused, her righteous anger flashing in her bared teeth and livid eyes. She pointed a crooked finger at the slightly hunched Master of Ceremony.

"Aye warned ye but ye did not listen. Tha Lady 'ere is Royal but ye spoke those disgustin' thins' to her anyway. Now, ye will take yer punishment."

Théoden King nodded to the old woman before turning back to the accused, his mouth opening before snapping shut as Aescwine moved. Aescwine seemed to have consider his options before making a decision. He turned towards the door and bolted. There was a small gap between the bystanders but at his movement, they closed ranks and broke off any chance of escape.

Lord Aragorn was one of the men to move, planting his feet in Aescwine's path. The Lord faced him down, arms crossed and a dangerous glint in his eye. The injured man would not have gotten far with Théodred and Eòmer chopping at the bit to inflict more pain on him but the sight of the former Ranger's stormy face sent Aescwine stumbling backwards. Even the Men standing in the Hall had a collective sense of righteous anger, their anger written on their faces.

His guilt now decided, Théoden King stepped forward.

"Master Aescwine, you have been found guilty of soliciting a member of my house. As such, it is within my right to demand punishment. I hereby strip you of your rank and title. All of your holdings, meager as they are, shall be handed to your successor. Forthwith, you are to be barred from entrance to Edoras and the Golden Hall. Have you anything to say?"

"Ma Lord, she is not even a Royal! Ye cannot do this for actions 'gainst a peasant." The man argued, ringing his hands in front of him.

Leòwyn's insecurities about her heritage once more surfaced and she felt water gather in her eyes. She refused to let her tears fall and so she stared at a pillar just to the right of the King as she regained her composure.

Leòwyn had never seen Théoden King angry, but as she watched his face darken and the men around him shuffle uncomfortably, she realized why.

"Last I checked, Théoden was King of Rohan. You dare presume that I cannot dictate what is to be done in my own Realm," his voice came out in a loud boom that echoed in the upper cavern of the Great Hall.

With a large breath the King continued, "Let me make this clear. My son and Lady Leòwyn are to be wed. As his intended, the Lady falls under my house for protection. Do any here have an objection to my right against Master Aescwine?"

His dark blue eyes scanned the crowd. All shook their heads or remained silent, signaling assent. With a nod, Théoden turned back to the pathetic form of the notorious drunkard.

"I have turned a blind eye to your habits long enough, Aescwine. My judgement stands. Be gone from my sight and should you return, you will be thrown in the dungeons to rot."

The crowd watched, jeering insults, as the disgraced Master of Ceremony made his exit, shuffling towards the doors, and out into the courtyard. He had stepped between the two doors to exit but not before shooting a dark look over his shoulder, zeroed on Leòwyn. She felt the malice in his glance and reminded herself to not venture alone.

Leòwyn stepped forward and turned to face the King.

"My Lord, I have a petition should you choose to hear my plea."

Théoden nodded and motioned for her to continue. The crowd quieted once more to hear her.

"A new Master of Ceremony is needed. I would like to put forth the maid Bertha."

Whispered mutterings overtook the crowd and Leòwyn could feel the surprise towards her nominating a woman in the place of a man. 'A woman!' one man gasped. Another questioned her place as a servant.

Théoden held up a hand and the people once more went silent.

"Lady Leòwyn, that position is historically held by a man. Why should I break with tradition at your request?"

Leòwyn gathered herself, "Why not, my Lord? History is well to be headed, however should it be a barrier between one deserving of a position and not receiving her due because of her sex? Bertha has shown her capability in organizing the Feast of Honor tonight. She holds the Key as well."

Théoden's hand came up to rub against his beard, wrinkles on his forehead signaling his thoughts. Leòwyn waited with bated breath, as did all those in witness. She could feel her palms getting slick with sweat. She discretely wiped them on the front of her skirt, knowing many were watching her.

After a few moments the King seemed to make a decision and nodded at Leòwyn. "You make a strong argument my Lady. I am willing to defy tradition but on a trial basis. Bertha, are you still present?"

The small form or the white haired woman stepped out of the crowd, "Aye, ma Lord."

Théoden directed his attention to the woman and the key in plain view around her neck. "Lady Leòwyn has vouched for you to replace Aescwine as Master of Ceremony. Do you wish for this as well?"

Bertha shot a glance at Leòwyn before returning her focus to the King. "Aye, I do, ma Lord."

The King nodded. "Then henceforth you shall be Mistress Bertha, Mistress of Ceremony. This is dependent on the outcome of tonight's feast, mind you. But I do not foresee any issues. Please get with Gamling to claim your holdings."

The newly appointed Mistress of Ceremony bobbed a rough curtsy before locking eyes with Leòwyn again. Her face was unreadable as she melted into the crowd again. Leòwyn breathed a sigh of relief.

The crowd soon dispersed as Théoden mounted the few steps to his throne and sat heavily upon the stone. Leòwyn could see the weight he carried on his shoulders and wished there was something she could do for him.

Looking behind her she noticed Théodred was speaking to Eòmer and Eòwyn. She climbed a few stairs before stopping.

"My lord," she started and stopped when his eyes met hers, "I did not mean to cause such trouble."

Théoden smiled slightly, more of a quirk of the lips, "My Lady, that man was never truly a man. He has been a thorn in my side for many a year. I should be thanking you. I do regret your pain however." He motioned to her hand and grimaced.

Leòwyn smiled widely, hoping to push some of her now calm energy to the burdened King. Her hand barely hurt anymore. "I have had worse, My Lord."

With a snort he nodded, "Yes, I have heard as much from Théodred. My son seems to think you are attracted to injury."

"My mother used to say that I have an Elf's grace and a Man's ungainliness."

That brought a bark of laughter, humor crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Your mother is a wise woman."

Leòwyn smiled and nodded, "Yes, she was."

She felt the sting of loss but pushed it away. She could sense the flickering weakness of Théoden's _Fea_ and knew he needed her gift. But she would not be able to help his _Fea _without being centered.

The King's face shadowed once more, "I apologize, my lady. How did she pass?"

"She had been weak for many years, since the death of my father. Her spirit was waning slowly, in the way of many Elves, but she held on for her only child. Once I came of age, she seemed to stop fighting. It was then I realized what she had been hiding. She had a wound, one that was not natural, and one she had hidden from me. It was a black wound. A diseased wound. It sapped her strength and when she no longer had to take care of me the way she had when I was a small babe, she passed." Leòwyn sighed and met the eyes of the King. "I have never spoken of it before now."

The King nodded silently before speaking, "Your mother had a strong spirit, I see much of that in you."

She smiled, tears springing into her eyes before, on an instinct she did not direct, she reached for his hand. As his hand touched hers she allowed her _Fea _to reach out to his. She pushed a small amount of strength into him and watched as his glow brightened in her mind's eye. His spirit stopped flickering and his mortal eyes closed in reaction. Leòwyn knew the Valar had reached through her once more as she felt her energy levels momentarily dip then return to her.

She released his hand and felt a wave of dizziness pass through her body. The transferring of energy should have exhausted her but she felt better than before, just off balance. Then Théodred's hand was on her lower back and he was looking between her and his father, a small frown on his face. She smiled at him and shook her head. She would tell him later. He nodded and they both looked towards the King.

His eyes were still closed and he had leaned back to rest against the back of his Throne. As if he could feel their attention he opened his eyes and Théodred shook in surprise while Leòwyn just smiled. Whereas before the Kings eyes had been haunted by his possession, now his eyes were clear and there was a well of strength in them.

Théoden looked at her and stood, taking the few steps needed to stand before her. He took her free hand in his large ones and brought it to his lips for a chaste kiss.

"What have you done, my dear?"

Leòwyn cocked her head to the side, still smiling. "Every being has a _Fea_, a spirit. Our spirits can only handle so much pain and suffering before waning. When your_ Fea_ begins to wane, the rest will follow. As elf-kind, I have the ability to touch others and use my own strength to save others. I have done so with you, my lord. The world still needs you."

Théoden's eyes were wide, his gaze locked on hers. She knew he had knowledge of her ancestry, Théodred would not have kept that to himself. "My son truly found a treasure in you, Leòwyn. Please accept my gratitude once more."

She bobbed her head and when the dizziness returned she felt herself sway. Théodred steadied her with two hands on her back and healthy shoulder before Théoden King bid them go rest before the feast tonight.

They walked slowly back to her chambers, his arm still around her shoulders, as she explained what had happened with the Valar.

Once in her room, she turned towards him, "Théodred, will you unwrap my arm? I cannot feel the pain any longer and I wish to see if what I suspect has been done is in fact true."

Théodred nodded and began unwrapping the cloth from her makeshift sling. AS soon as her arm was released enough to hold it at her side she waited for the pain. When it did not come she laughed freely.

"There is no pain! The Valar healed me." She said, smiling happily at the Prince, who was grinning back at her.

"The Valar must know how important you are. We could not have you going to your first feast and not being able to dance properly!"

"Dance?!" she squeaked. "I cannot dance Théodred. I do not know how!"

He laughed and gripped her by the shoulders with large hands. He leaned down and captured her lips with his. "I will teach you, daft woman!"

He pulled away and guided her over to the fire where a small meal had been placed. As they ate, they caught up on the journey to Isengard. Théodred did not mention the Halflings, wishing to see her reaction in person.

"Leòwyn, I need to know," he started, "Why did you not tell me about your injuries yourself?"

Leowyn grimaced and cast her gaze to the ground. "I did not want you to be upset with me. Eòwyn took the decision out of my hands."

Théodred raised her chin with his hand. "I was not angry with you. I was angry at myself for not being there to prevent it."

She shook her head, "You cannot protect me from everything my love. I like to think I handled myself well."

With a rueful grin he nodded, "You did indeed. But I don't want you to fear my anger. I will never be truly angry at you." Leòwyn laughed and agreed to not tell keep anything from him again.

As they finished eating, he stood, "I will leave you to rest and get ready. I will return for you for the feast."

He kissed her once more before leaving. Leòwyn sighed and decided to take a small rest before Eòwyn was to come and help her get ready. She retreated to her bed and fell into an easy slumber as soon as her eyes closed.

Sure enough, what felt like mere minutes had passed before she was shaken awake by the White Lady of Rohan.

"It is time to get ready, my friend," her grin brought back memories of the previous hours and Leòwyn mock glared at her, sleep immediately forgotten.

"Eòwyn, what a mess you started today. You are as bad as your cousin. I suspect your brother is the same as well."

The golden haired woman laughed. "Théodred's anger was best controlled around others. I would not have wanted that man to be beaten to death without a trial and justice done upon him."

Leòwyn realized she had not thought of that. She had seen the anger that ran in the blood of the King's line. She was suddenly grateful for Eòwyn who knew them better than herself and had the foresight to do something about it.

With a small smile she replied, "Thank you Eòwyn."

The White Lady tsked, with a smile, and clapped her hands. Leòwyn's maids entered her bedchamber, one carrying a pile of fabric in a drastic red color.

"What is that?" the elf-maiden asked, stepping forward, entranced by the deep maroon.

"That is the dress I had fashioned for you. It is in the color of Royalty, and will be perfect for your introduction as a member of the Royal household. It will also contrast wonderfully with your coloring."

Leòwyn could not tear her gaze away from the beautiful shimmering material, its lightweight bodice and long sleeves making the dress look almost Elvish.

With the help of Eòwyn, who was already dressed in a flowing white gown with a green bodice embroidered with golden horses, Leòwyn stepped into the dress. It was laced quickly and she sighed in pleasure as at the way the material slide across her skin. Her hair was elegantly wrapped around her head, tendrils pulled out to give her a breezy, carefree look. Eòwyn even added charcoal around her eyes, making her glacier eyes stand out more prominently.

When shown her image Leòwyn could not hold in the gasp that escaped her. Her heart shaped tanned face, framed by her chocolate hair and reflected by the dark red dress was startling. A smile stretched her lips as he imaged how Théodred would react. She noticed the other women were staring at her as well.

A knock on the stone door shook the women out of their trance. Eòwyn walked to the door and opened it as Leòwyn stood and turned.

Théodred and Eòmer were both waiting in the doorway, dressed smartly in fancy tunics and both still wearing knives strapped to their waists. The world fell away as Leòwyn's eye caught his and she watched as his face transformed from shock to an adoring look that melted her insides.

Théodred moved forward, never breaking eye contact to stand before her. Her hand was brought to his lips and then he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear, "You are beautiful, my love."

Leowyn smiled at him, and allowed him to lead her out of the door and into the hallway. Eòmer collected Eòwyn on his arm and they followed the Royal couple as the group made their way to the Great Hall. Leòwyn could hear the clatter from down the stone hall and she took a deep breath, Théodred leading her to the opening of the Hall. They would enter as a couple and be officially announced by Théoden King. She felt the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of so many eyes on her but the solid arm of the Prince underneath hers calmed her. With a nod, Théodred smiled at her and they entered the brightly lit hall, arm in arm.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

* * *

Leòwyn allowed her eyes to adjust to the brighter, well-lit Great Hall as Théodred led them towards the dais. A small pathway had opened, lined with bodies, to allow them to transverse the crowd freely. The hall was tightly packed, and the air seemed to pulse with the presence of life. She could hear the pounding heartbeats of the gathered _eorlingas. _It only added to the excitement in the air, even with the tempered feelings of sorrow.

Leòwyn could not think of a better way to commemorate the Realms dead than by bringing together all The Honorary had perished to save.

Her sharp hearing did not only bring the pulse of excitement but also the muffled conversations that floated around the four Royals as they proceeded towards Théoden King. _Well three royals,_ she amended in her head. She heard the whispers most from the women assembled.

'…_my! The Lady's dress-'_

'…_a more fetching couple there isn't-'_

She could feel a blush begin to flush across her face. Thankfully, the warm, golden lighting would prevent many of noticing their heat. Leòwyn kept her face as polite as possible but the feeling of multitudes of eyes on her caused an itch under her skin.

The King of Rohan was standing directly in front of his throne, dressed in all the finery that she had come to expect from him. He was normally attired towards utilitarian purpose but the mark of fine cloth was hard to miss, even on his most well used linens. He calmly watched their procession, gracing the four with a regal nod as they took their places on the raised stairs.

She allowed the Prince to guide her to the right of the King, signaling their positions of honor. Théodred and Leòwyn were on the step below the King. She pretended to take time to brush out the folds of her dress to calm her nerves. Her arm was still resting lightly in the crook of Théodred's arm, his other hand coming up to cover her own. Leòwyn had to will her mind to focus on anything besides the heat flooding her body and coiling directly below her navel as his thumb rubbed circles along her index finger. The man would be the death of her.

Eòwyn and Eòmer positioned themselves on the following step, Eòmer's head still rising higher than Leòwyn's even from her height advantage. With a smirk, the large man cast her a side look. She knew he was laughing at her lack of stature by the twinkle in his eye and she had to retrain herself from pinching his closest arm.

Leòwyn instead rolled her eyes. _Insufferable blockhead_.

They had both moved past their initial hesitancy and Leòwyn considered the oft scowling Marshall a part of her growing family in Edoras. He had a gallant soul which was something Leòwyn was coming to recognize amongst the members of the King's household. It helped his case that Eòwyn was a very dear friend and by relation he had earned a spot in her heart.

A servant quickly handed her a goblet filled with a strong smelling drink. She brought it to her face and had to hold in a sneeze as her eyes watered. She was used to the sharp fruity smell of wine, not this searing concoction of spices. She identified cinnamon as one. Théodred's hand dropped from hers to accept his as well.

Three hard raps, with a sturdy cane of wood, proceeded a deep shout, "Peace, Eorlingas." Gamling stepped back to the Kings left as the crowded hushed.

Théoden allowed his gaze to sweep over the crowd as silence prevailed. Raising his goblet of hearty Rohirric mead, "Tonight, we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead!"

A resounding "HAIL!" shook the still air of Meduseld. All raised their goblets in salute before many downed the cup in one long pull.

Leòwyn eyed the crowd, her lips just touching the rim of her cup. She met the eyes of Lord Aragorn who had halted his cup in contemplation. His eyes were shadowed as he took a drink, his eyes never leaving her face. Leòwyn raised her clay cup in mimicry of him and the strong smell invaded her senses as she took a small sip. To her delight, the liquid was surprisingly sweet but seared down her throat nonetheless. She took a larger gulp before lowering her arm, sending the Lord a small smile which he returned.

Théoden spoke once more. "My People. While this night is for honoring our noble dead, it is also a night of celebration. A celebration of life and of the future of the Realm. My son has expressed his wish to court the lovely lady you see on his arm this night. It is no great surprise that he had fallen for such a lovely woman but it is her generous heart that has also endeared herself to many of you and to myself. I therefore announce the betrothal of Prince Théodred of Rohan to Lady Leòwyn, Healer of the White Mountains. May they be graced with a long, happy union!"

Théodred turned his head to share a searing look with her as the crowd roared louder than before. Cups were thrust in the air, their grief momentarily placed aside at the happy news. Leòwyn heard her name shouted by many, along with Théodred's.

Théoden motioned for silence as the shouts died off. "Enjoy this feast, brave people of Rohan. For times are dark and war is looming. Take happiness where it can be found." He saluted once more with his now empty mug before turning to address his son who turned to greet his father.

Leòwyn's eyes caught the Ranger's once more, her cheeks a bright pink. She could not contain the joyful smile that flashed her teeth brightly. Lord Aragorn raised his drink in a small salute to her before turning to engage in conversation with Lord Legolas and Lord Gimli. Tearing her gaze from his back she started as ice met cornflower blue.

Eòwyn was frowning at her, her lips twisted before she turned away. The heat from her gaze could have burned the elf-maiden from a distance away. With a sigh, Leòwyn knew she would have to speak with her friend before the night waned but for now she was content to stay on Théodred's arm, as she had missed him too much to be parted for now.

The Prince attention was on Gamling, and Erkenbrand, two of Théoden King's most trust advisors. A few other members of the Royal Council were included in the ring she found herself standing on the edge of. Leòwyn could not stop herself from listening into their conversation.

"-and what of the people of the East Fold? Is there no safety to find?" Gamling's deep voice asked.

Erkenbrand grunted, his bushy mustache twitching, "With the Hornburg in pieces, there is no safe hardholm for them to flee. Many that had taken refuge at Helm's Deep must now look elsewhere."

Leòwyn's words were from her lips before she could rationally stop them. "Will we not rebuild?"

The men stopped and turned towards her, many staring at her with derision. It was not a woman's place to interfere with the realm of responsibility of men. She knew that is how they felt but it did not stop her from thinking differently. As Queen they would have to get used to her outspoken ways. She was not bred, born, nor raised thinking women as an inferior sex.

Théodred, eyes warm, motioned for her to continue.

"The Hornburg has always been known as Rohan's stronghold. It is a symbol of the strength of the _eorlingas _and Rohan's reputation. Surely we cannot let a battle, even against such foul beasts, weaken Rohan's spirit. We won. And we should rebuild, even in the midst of war."

"And who will rebuild, my Lady? All of our men will be called to fight. Are we to expect women and children to rebuild great works of stone?" An older council member snorted, the simpering smile on his lips raising the hair on the back of Leòwyn's neck.

She kept her face calm but her hand clenched on Théodred's, blunt nails digging into his tunic sleeve. She could sense the Prince's anger as well. A murderous look pinched Erkenbrand's face but he kept his peace. Perhaps the old war bird was taking her mettle. Leòwyn steeled herself.

With a small smile Leòwyn replied, "Of course not, my lord. The burden will not only be on our women and children but on the Dwarves sent to assist. In the meanwhile, those displaced can take safety inside the caves."

Her statement caused silence. "Dwarves?!" another grey haired man asked. "What Dwarves?"

Leòwyn opened her hands in a placating gesture, her sharp eyes zeroing on the man. Her mother had always told her that the best defense in an argument was to stay calm. She could see his throat bob as he swallowed. "The ones Master Gimli has promised."

Théodred's hand squeezed hers in warning and she turned her smile to him. She could see the worry and slight reprimand in his gaze. With a wink, she unhooked her arm and cocked her head to the still silent group.

"My Lords, Rohan shall rebuild. Please excuse me." She curtsied shallowly before moving off the dais and down the stairs.

Leòwyn knew her retreat had been anything less than graceful, with her knees clattering together like a baby deer's but she kept her spine straight and steps even. She would not make it look like a retreat when that was exactly what it had been. Now, she had a dwarf to find and hope he accept her plea.

She spent a moment in the shadow of a pillar gathering her wits once more. She might have been hasty in her promise of dwarven aid. Surely if there were not many dwarves to be seen in the world, then they had foes of their own to deal with. Still, she would try. With a resolute nod she set her eyes to finding the brash ginger.

She found him in an argument with his Elvin friend over drink. With a small smile, Lord Legolas noticing her first, she placed herself next to their small group. All three bowed to her before Lord Aragorn spoke.

"Lady Leòwyn, please join us. Gimli was just challenging Legolas to a drinking competition."

She laughed, and noticed the gaze of her half-kin sharpen in response. She had always had a light laugh, one that was joyful on the ears. Her smile fell slightly before she turned towards the shortest of her companions.

"Master Dwarf, I have come to with a plea if you would permit me to speak on it."

The dwarf nodded his assent quickly, and even turned to face her squarely.

"As you know, the Hornburg is a shadow of its former glory. It was once a great stronghold that housed Rohan's refugees from the East Mark. Many have fled the wrath of Mordor. With no safe haven, women and children of Rohan will be ever vulnerable. " She wrung her hands before continuing. She could see the dawning on his face but he kept his silence, waiting for her to state her wish.

"It is my plea for the assistance of your dwarven kin to help rebuild our great Deeping Wall." She fell silent, failing to keep her worry out of her eyes.

Gimli gave her a hard look, flicking his eyes from her face to her clasped hands. He grunted before taking a long gulp from his tankard of ale. She could feel the stares of his other company members as she stood in their shadows.

The dwarf turned back to Leòwyn, his face giving nothing away. She found it would be hard to read his expressions with the amount of hair that covered his features. Only his eyes and a small portion of his forehead peaked out around the mass of fiery red locks.

He finally broke his silence, deep voice booming, "Aye, my lady. The li'le ones shall not go without while ma people can provide. I shall send a missive on the morrow."

Leòwyn released a huge gust of breath, she shoulders sagging as Aragorn grinned at her, thumping her shoulder good naturedly. A bright smile overtook her face.

"You have my eternal gratitude, Lord Gimli."

The dwarf snorted, "I am no Lord, ma Lady. Gimli will do. And my people will have a price."

Leòwyn frowned but nodded. She knew little of what a dwarf would want from a land of horses and flat earth. Gimli continued, "The caves of Helm's Deep are legendary to ma people. I would ask for permission to explore them and possibly mine, if the Horselords agree."

Leowyn nodded, her face earnest. "I will speak with Théodred, surely the King will have no qualms with caves the people of Rohan only use in times of strife."

Gimli grunted in assent before handing her a recently filled cup of ale before turning to Aragorn with some question. Leòwyn assumed that was the end of their negotiations and turned, only to be stopped by a soft touch on her arm. She pivoted to face the Prince of Mirkwood. Leòwyn knew his name from her mother but had managed to avoid speaking with him as of yet.

She was reminded of why when his curious eyes met hers. His speech was soft and elegant as a flowing river, "My Lady, I cannot help noticing your resemblance to one of my distant Kin."

Leòwyn sighed before nodding. "I am half-elvin, my lord. My mother was of the Noble race. My father however was a mortal Man."

Legolas' expression morphed into surprise. "And your mother?"

"She has passed, my lord." Her sorrow rose to the surface of her skin, making even his soft fingertips on her elbow feel like needles of pain. Leòwyn shifted slightly to jostle them off her. She knew the elf understood her reasoning when he smiled sadly.

"I apologize, my lady. It is never easy to lose ones we thought we would have forever." His sympathy was genuine. She nodded.

"If I may, can I ask her name?"

Leòwyn smiled, "Lilithien, daughter of Elwing."

Legolas gasped, his shock apparent. Leòwyn leaned backwards slightly, a frowning marring her face. Why was her mother's name important? She must have looked confused for Leoglas quickly schooled his features before turning towards Aragorn.

"Aragorn, _A ron –o ugrncui. Ha nei- ielo Lilithien." _He spoke in the flittering language of the elves. Leòwyn's mind was slow to make the translation but when she did, she spoke.

"Yes, my mother was Litlithien. What does that matter?" she turned to face Aragorn who had gone still.

"Leòwyn, are you aware of your heritage?" his voice was barely a whisper, but she was able to make it out with her enhanced hearing and ability to read lips.

Her head was starting to ache fiercely as her annoyance grew. The large room suddenly felt stifling and overly warm with so many bodies. With a quick turn, throwing a pointed wave towards the door, she strode out through a few groups to make it into the cooling night. Aragorn appeared not a moment later, holding a cup she found to be a refreshing light wine.

They both stood before the steps of the Golden Hall, bathed in silence and the sounds of rowdiness behind them. Her eyes closed as she took a deep, steadying breath. She slowly pushed her rising irritation at being kept in the dark about her own mother before opening her eyes to study the dark haired man beside her.

"My mother was the daughter of Earendil and Elwing, born during the dying of the First Age. She is sister to Lord Elrond of Rivendell, also known by Imladris, The Last Homely House East of the Sea."

Aragorn waited for her to finish before laying a hand gently on her shoulder. She turned to face him.

"She was also Aunt to Lady Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of her people, and twins Elladan, and Elrohir."

Leòwyn shook her head. "She never spoke of those names to me. She did not speak much of the family she had left behind. They did not understand her love of a mortal man."

She snorted as she realized that she had followed in her mother's footsteps. She hoped that her mother was proud of her.

Aragorn nodded. "The life of an Elf is long. So long, we men cannot fathom its depth nor the wisdom that comes with seeing millennium pass. It also makes them resist change. Your mother was hardly the first of her race to love one from another."

There was something wistful in his speech and gaze, as he stared out at the vast plains below Edoras that had Leòwyn curious. She turned towards him.

"I have spoken plainly and about truths I would have wished buried. Now, I expect the same, Heir of Elendil."

Aragorn sighed, a hand coming to scrape along his temple and pass through his hair. "There was once a time that Arwen Undomiel promised herself to me and I to her. But I fear, she has long since sailed to the Undying Lands and with her my heart."

The two were both silent for a moment while Leòwyn processed that her cousin was so like her in many ways, most prominently the choice of where to place their hearts.

"That is the reason for the beautiful jewel you carry then," Leòwyn smiled, "While I know little of my blood family, if she has the wisdom to choose you, then I do not think my cousin would be so cruel as to leave you to your fate. Do not trouble yourself Aragorn, Son of Arathorn."

His face looked less pinched when she left him, standing before the steps of the Golden Hall, watching her retreat back into the musty hall and Leòwyn considered that a victory. She forced herself to push through the mass of sweaty bodies, the less drunk ones moving as they saw who was trying to get through. While she had done better with always being surrounded by others in the weeks following their journey from her meadow, she was still far from comfortable around such crowds.

With a slight edge of panic, Leòwyn picked up her speed, trying not too bump others so harshly but she could feel her vision tunneling. Just as she despaired she would never find an end to the mass of man flesh, a vice grip on her lower arm dragged her between two large warriors, who grunted, before she was pulled into an area that was less packed with others and could finally take a deep breath. She hunched over slightly, her lungs sucking in air. A small hand had come to rub circles on her back.

When Leòwyn had finally regained some control, she straightened and noticed the worried glances of Eòwyn and her brother fixed on her form. She grimaced and accepted a small, delicate glass full of the wine she had tasted earlier. She thanked her golden haired friend before downing it in one go. Eòmer cheered as she finished and his brevity forced a genuine smile to her lips.

"Are you well, Leòwyn?" Eòwyn's voice held a cold, distant worry. Leòwyn winced as she realized she had forgotten their incident earlier.

With a smile, which the White Lady did not return, "Eòwyn, will you sit with me. I wish to clear the worries that plague you."

Eòmer noted his sister's rigid posture and Leòwyn's almost begging before turning and disappearing into the crowd. He for one did not wish to be dragged into a quarrel between two hot blooded females. Especially when one was his sister and the other, his future Queen.

Eòwyn took a seat at the long table, wedging between a snoring man and another that looked ready to fall off the bench he was swaying so much. With a shout behind her and a flick of her wrist, two men appeared to drag the swaying man away. Hopefully to a bed somewhere where he could sleep off the worse of it. Leòwyn sat in the space vacated by the poor man and angled her body to face her friend.

Leòwyn raised her brow as Eòwyn opened her mouth, face stormy before clicking it shut.

"What is it you wish to say to me, Eòwyn?"

The lady in question threw up her hands. "What is between you and Lord Aragorn?" she bit out.

Leòwyn could see the tension in the lines of her body and felt for her friend. She had noticed that the Lord in question gave Eòwyn no more attention than any of the other maidens and it was beginning to hurt her friend. Leòwyn sighed. She feared her freind was going to be hurt by her own feelings soon enough.

"Nothing, my dear, dear friend. I would never do such a thing to you nor do I see any other but your cousin. You know this. My heart belongs to Théodred. Lord Aragorn is a friend, and nothing more. So, what brought this forth?"

Leòwyn placed a hand on Eòwyn's forearm that was resting on the long table. After a moment, Eòwyn gripped her hand with her own. She looked close to tears when she faced the dark haired beauty.

"I am sorry, Leòwyn. I know you adore my cousin. I do not know what has come over me but I fear I have lost my heart to him."

Leòwyn gasped and then felt tears well in her eyes at the truth the man in question had imparted on her. "Eòwyn, please tell me it is not so. His heart has been spoken for, by an Elf Maid in a distant land."

Eòwyn frozen, her eyes glued on Leòwyn's sorrowful face before she rushed from the table, flinging Leòwyn 's arm away and disappearing into the crowd. The elf-maiden called after her, going so far as to once more enter the fray of people before losing sight of her friends' white gown in the dim lighting.

Many of the lanterns and torches had burned out by now. Soft music was still playing but was background noise to the swell of voices in the chamber. Leòwyn sighed, her headache growing as she stood motionless between a group of giggling women, and intoxicated men.

Suddenly two large hands were around her waist, and a fire spread through her body. Her eyes closed as she fought to control her blush. For Valar's sake, would her body ever not react as kindling to a flame in his presence?

As if he could sense her thoughts, Théodred chuckled into her hair before spinning her around, catching her lithe body so that they faced each other.

"Finally, my beautiful betrothed graces me. I have been searching for you all night, _min __breostcea._"

Leòwyn could smell the ale on his breath but his eyes were as steady as ever. She smiled and felt some of her tension leave. Eòwyn's flight had caused her to worry. The Prince frowned as he felt her hard muscles under his hands.

"What is the matter, Leòwyn?"

"Nothing that cannot be solved later. Would you dance with me?" She fluttered her eyes lids in a playful seduction and watched humor color his face.

"Anything my Lady wishes." He responded, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. The music could be heard well as they approached and Leòwyn realized she recognized the tune. It had been a favorite of hers when traveling musicians used to visit the market her mother would sometimes take her to.

Théodred pulled her close, until there was naught but a fingers breath between their bodies. She felt her face flush but was captivated by his dark eyes. In the fires light, the emotion that burned in his eyes sent wild birds through her stomach. Leòwyn thanked her foresight not to eat from the long tables that held a city's worth of food. She could imagine nothing more embarrassing than relieving herself on Théodred's tunic from her nerves.

The wine she had drunk had begun to make the world slightly hazy and she enjoyed the feeling of floating in his strong arms as they paced across the floor, followed by other couples. The tempo changed, to a slower more even melody, and Théodred slowed his steps. His hand came to fit in the small of her back, the other still holding her hand. Leòwyn could not help the weight of her head as it came to rest perfectly below his chin.

Too soon, this song also came to a close and as she lifted her head off of Théodred's chest she realized that the King was standing before her. A blush lit her face again, to be found in such an intimate position by her beloved's father.

The older man just laughed, a good natured smile on his face before he bowed. "May I claim my future daughter for this dance?"

Leòwyn saw Théodred nod out of the corner of her eye so she turned back to him, curtsying gracefully as he bowed to her. The man winked before striding to rejoin the crowd watching the dancing. Leòwyn turned towards the King and once more dipped into a curtsy as he bowed.

He reached for her hand, directing her to the line of females that had formed on one side of the dance floor. He then took his place opposite her, in a line of men. The music began to pick up and Leòwyn found herself pushed forward with the rest of the women, all with hands on each other. The men had done the same, arms thrown over shoulders. _This is much like a battle_, Leòwyn thought as one line edged forward, danced as one unit before retreating.

She allowed the other women to guide her steps and momentarily forgot that she did not know the steps, losing herself in the music and the people around her. Her smile seemed etched into her cheeks, so wide was her grin.

Then the line men came forward but this time she sensed it was different. They unlocked their arms from each other and lifted the women into the air to spin once before reorienting them on the ground. Leòwyn could not stop the loud laughter that sprung from her deep inside her chest. Théoden King proved an apt dancing partner and surprisingly strong for his age.

The couples split off as the musicians transitioned fluidly to another dance. Leòwyn danced this more springier tune with the King before she was claimed by Théodred once more. Gamling was waiting as soon as that one ended and she found herself spinning in large circles, flowing in and out of other couples with him and even Lord Erkenbrand.

Leòwyn's feet began to hurt but she was having too much fun to notice. As the final tune winded down, and she rose from her curtsy to Lord Erkenbrand, she found herself facing two of the shortest men she had ever encountered. Her look of surprise caused the two to burst into guffaws.

"I told you, did I not Merry? The Lady has never seen our like before." The shorter Halfling said.

"You are quite right, Pippin. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to the blushing bride. Congratulations are in order." The other responded.

With simultaneous bows, the shortest of the small men spoke. "I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, of the Buckland and this is my cousin Peregrin Took of the Shire."

Leòwyn gasped, smiling widely, "You are Hobbits!"

The two men nodded rapidly before speaking over each other, "that we are-"

"-yes my lady." They elbowed each other with faux frowns on their faces as Leòwyn giggled behind her hand. "We should like to ask for this next dance, my lady."

With a deep curtsy, Leòwyn accepted and was swept away by not only the liveliness of her two new companions but also by their tales. They were long winded but the dances, as fast paced as they were, could not stop the two halflings from telling their stories. _What adventures they have had_, she thought. As the music ended on their fourth dance together, Leòwyn begged off another, her flushed face evidence of her plight. Even her elvin grace had begun to evade her, causing more bruises than the dances were worth. The two hobbits gamely nodded.

"I would love to hear more of your tales, Master Meriadoc and Master Peregrin. I would like a drink and some food, if there be any left." The two hobbits laughed and Merry patted her hand.

"Merry and Pippin, please. We are friends after all! We shall fetch your food and a drink. As it is, we have not had a meal in more than two candles so my cousin and I shall like to eat once more," Merry grinned before marching off.

Pippin stayed a moment to pat her hand, then also left. Leòwyn turned to watch as they charged toward the tables holding the feast, dodging legs as they did so. She had never met such interesting souls in her life, she mused.

Her aching feet were becoming a concern as it felt as if she were walking on needles. Leòwyn groaned, shuffling to the nearest bench, which happened to be occupied by the Prince and some of the men she recognized as Doorwardens, their red cloaks usually a telltale sign. Théodred's eyes had been on her since she stepped off the dance floor.

His smile warmed her heart as one of the men shuffled down the table to allow her the space next to him. She marveled at his shear size, taking up a majority of the bench with his muscular body. Her eyes traveled from his thighs, to the curve of his back, and stopped at the eyes that burned through her. He had watched her take his measure and she could not deny the need she knew they both felt.

With a blush, Leòwyn noticed that the table of men had gone silent, many with smirks on their faces, others stifling their laughter in their ale. She quickly sat down and tried to get her cheeks to stop flaming with heat. Théodred's hand, that had come to rest lightly on her thigh, did little to help.

One of the bolder riders, waggled his eyebrows, "Lads, if I had a lass like our Lady Bride to give me looks like that in the night, I might just run to the marriage bed."

The table chuckled loudly, even Théodred smiled and shook his head. "Leòwyn, this is Éothain, son of Éothred . Captain of my éored and a constant source of headaches."

Said captain saluted smartly in her direction, his attention entirely focused on her and the Prince.

Eòmer, two seats down, rolled his eyes but Leòwyn could see the humor in the set of his shoulders. Leòwyn allowed a matching smirk to twist her lips before eyeing the man who had spoken. Her glacier eyes seemed to throw him off guard as she could see him begin to fidget nervously on the bench.

"Poor Éothain. If only there was a woman willing to marry you, I'd say you would make a fine husband. Alas, no such woman exists."

Éothain's face resembled the small fish she used to net out of the River Isen and it sent her into a wave of laughter. The men around her roared, many slapping the poor captain on the back, at her jest. Leowyn smiled an apology at the man, who just shook his head at her, acknowledging her victory.

She turned towards Théodred, having felt his gaze on her skin. His smile was the smile he only bestowed upon her. The one that sent her heart stuttering for the amount of love she could see in it was almost painful in its goodness.

She reached for his hand, still resting on her thigh, and carefully intertwined their fingers. She felt his responding squeeze and her smile brightened if possible. Théodred leaned toward her to whisper in her ear.

"Have you enjoyed yourself, _min __breostcea?" _the whisper of his breath on her skin was sweet agony.

Leòwyn nodded, "Yes, I daresay as my first feast, it has lived up to my expectations and so much more."

He raised her hands to his lips in response and grinned when goosebumps broke out on her skin. Leòwyn scowled good-naturedly at him, pinching his side. The insufferable man did not even flinch.

The arrival of Merry and Pippin, with their piles of stacked food, and multitude of drinks saw the departure of many riders. Many went to refill their cups, while others left to make room for the feast brought to the table.

"How on earth did you manage all of this?" Leòwyn asked, her face awed. She could feel her stomach rumbling in anticipation.

The two Hobbits shrugged and focused on the plates, piled high with sweat meats and pies of all different flavors.

"Leòwyn," she turned at his voice, "have you not eaten?" His frown told her his feelings on the matter.

Leòwyn shrugged, much like the hobbits, not wanting him upset with her, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Her actions might be slightly out of the realm of proper courting but at a feast honoring their victorious dead and their own engagement, she felt able to get away with it.

"I have been busy, dear man. Now let me eat, if you are so worried." She responded, earning an indulgent smile and a shake of his head.

Turning her attention back to the Hobbits, that were already piling as much food into their mouths as could possibly fit, she reached for a glass of wine and a less full plate. She picked a deliciously looking pie, flaky crust over a savory stuffing, and ate it in a few large bites. As Leòwyn continued to pick pies out, her favorite being the rosemary duck filling, Eòmer reappeared and sat across from his cousin.

His tankard looked to have just been filled and the slight smile on his face confirmed that he was deep in his cups. The man never had a pleasant look on his face unless he was beating the stuffing out of trainees in the practice ring, and even then, it was a dangerous sort of glee.

The two men watched as three of the smallest people in the Hall ate five plates of food before finally sitting back. The Hobbits, glassy eyed and staring, looked ready to retire. Leòwyn could feel herself begin to tire as well but loathed to have the evening end just yet. So she drank her wine just a bit slower and relished in the comfort of she found, surrounded by friends.

The crowd in the hall had dwindled much, with only small groups huddled together or those who had drank too much propped up against many surfaces, bodies slumped. Merry and Pippin seemed to make the decision as one being to exit the hall, clamoring for their beds as they waved goodbye to Leòwyn and the two royal cousins.

Leòwyn noted that Eòwyn was not among those still left in the hall and her heart ached with worry but she knew Eòwyn well. The strong headed woman would want to be alone, to grieve for herself, before Leòwyn would get much out of her.

Théoden King had also retired, and his councilors along with him. He had claimed that the nights were for the young as he had departed after their last dance. She could hardly agree with him. Leòwyn was still young but would give anything to return to her bed and be held in the protection of the one she loved. She knew that was a dream that would only become reality once they were wed.

The first few nights in the Hornburg and at Edoras, Leòwyn had been unable to sleep well, missing the feeling of his steady warmth at her side. Tonight, would be no different though perhaps her body would allow for more sleep with the drink she had consumed.

Her head had slide sideways to rest on Théodred's strong shoulder, their hands intertwined in her lap as she watched the one whom she had not yet spoken to approach. Many things were different about the Wizard Gandalf as opposed to the last time he had appeared in her meadow.

His grey clothing had been replaced with a startling white. A white, that seemed to have dyed his hair and taken the color from his skin as well. But his eye, a sharp blue, remained the same. As did the kind lines of his face and the old humor that twisted his lips as he gazed upon the newly betrothed couple.

"My child, how you have grown. Into such beauty I am hardly surprised, for such is your birthright. It is good to see you again, Leòwyn." The old man reached down a placed a weathered hand on her head, which she had lifted from Théodred's bulk.

Leòwyn smiled at her old friend and mentor once upon a time. "It is good to see you well, Gandalf. It seems not even a balrog can drag you into death."

When she had heard the story, of Gandalf's foe and his death, she had been distraught but knew the Wizard lived for she had seen him after his arrival at the Battle of the Hornburg. Merry and Pippin had been quick to fill in the details that pertained to his rebirth as the White Wizard.

A loud chuckle escaped his wizened lips as his eyes twinkled. "As sharp as always my dear flower. Would you care to fill an old man in on how you have come to know the Prince of Rohan? It seems I have a lot of catching up to do."

She nodded her head but barely caught a yawn as it split her face, her hand reaching up to cover her gaping mouth. "Of course, Mithrandir. However, it is late, and I find myself struggling to keep my eyes open."

Gandalf chuckled again and nodded. "A tale for another time then. I shan't keep you from your bed, my dear."

Théodred stood, allowing her time to carefully extract herself from the bench. Leòwyn embraced the white wizard, and they held each other for a few moments more. She had truly missed him, as much as she missed her mother, and her life in her meadow. Those were things of her past, yet it did not dampen her joy at seeing him whole. Gandalf pulled back and ruffled her loose hair causing Leòwyn to squirm and scowl at the man.

She heard Théodred'd surprised laugh behind her. Snapping her gaze to his face, her eyes promised vengeance, "I have always hated that."

_All men are insufferable_ she thought, as Gandalf laughed and shooed her away. "Return to your Prince, my dear. I shall find you come morning."

Leòwyn gave him once last annoyed smile before doing as bid, turning back and stepping lightly towards Théodred. He offered her his arm and settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked slowly back to the royal wing of the Golden Hall, where Leòwyn had been offered a bedchamber, even if she was not royal yet.

"How is it you know Mithrandir?" he asked.

"He was a friend of my mothers. When I was a babe, he once told my mother that I was destined for great happiness but also great tragedy. She warned me against the words of a meddling wizard. He has been my friend for many years, after her passing." Leòwyn's voice reflected her nostalgia.

Théodred hummed next to her. "You are destined for great happiness, Leòwyn. But I will do everything in my power to see it only be happiness. Tragedy does not suit."

She could feel the tears well in her eyes at his words Théodred had always been so kind, so gentle with her. What had she done to deserve such love?

"I love you."

With a gasp, Leòwyn stopped, a hand flying to cover her mouth. She had never told him that. Not out loud at least. It was an acknowledged feeling between them but never had she said the words. It felt wonderful to hear the words cross her lips and know she meant them with all her being.

Théodred's eyes had gone wide and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wooden wall, his chest pressed to hers. With greedy lips he kissed her, stealing what little breath remained in her body. She had kissed him many a time but there was a promise, so fragile yet true, in this kiss that Leòwyn surrendered herself to. The feeling was uniquely him.

She had always thought promises were such weak bindings on a person. A person's words was only as good as the honor they carried in their hearts and the goodness of their souls. Therefore, promises were fragile. She knew Théodred to be true. Everything he did was done with honor and goodness. But promises were also broken by not only men but by the fates, by the Gods.

Théodred pulled back from her as he felt her tears on his lips. She hadn't known when she had started crying but silent tears tracked their way down her face as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved more than life itself. His eyes searched her face for a sign for her sorrow.

"You cannot promise me that there will not be tragedy in my life, dear one." She spoke and her voice wavered with tears. "There is a war to be fought and battles to be won. I shall not be on them but you shall. The tragedy of my life would be to lose you."

Théodred paused, eyes lowering to the stone floor, and she could see the burden being fought in his mind. She knew he would do anything for her, possibly even stay behind with her while others rode out. Leòwyn would not allow such decisions to be made by him. Surely not.

"I am not asking you to forsake your duty," she said softly, smiling as his eyes snapped back to hers. "You are your country's beacon of hope in a world overcome with darkness. The people, your men, will need you before the end. But you must swear not to be brash and to think of me if you are contemplating something truly asinine."

Théodred brought her into a crushing hug, his face buried in her hair. They stayed like that for many long moments before they turned and once more proceeded to her bedchamber. No words were spoken for none were needed.

Their booted feet stopped before her door and she turned towards the Prince, his mane of hair glowing golden in the soft torch light of the hall. Théodred reached up a hand to gently rest against her neck, his thumb dancing patterns over her racing heartbeat. She knew he could feel how his touch send bolts of fire across her body.

Ever so slowly, he leaned down and brought their lips together, in a kiss so sweet Leòwyn sighed in pleasure. She felt his smile against her lips before he pulled back, gazing down at her from his impressive height.

"I love you, _min __breostcea." _Her joy was complete and with a wild laugh she jumped at him. He caught her with strong arms and laughed as she cried into his shoulder. When she finally pulled back, her arms still around his neck and her feet a foot off the ground, her smile could have melted rock with its intensity.

"Oh! The dwarves." Leòwyn giggled at his face that morphed into exasperation. He lowered her to the floor and she in turn grasped his arm, leading him inside her chamber, shutting the door behind them.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Leòwyn spent the morning searching the Golden Hall and beyond for her friend. The White Lady could be very elusive when she wished it. Leòwyn chewed her bottom lip in worry, Eòwyn had taken the news of Lord Aragorn very badly.

_Bema, help me. Even with that blasted white dress she is a ghost,_ Leòwyn's curse transition to a giggle, _oh, the irony_.

The elf-maiden was close to pulling her hair out when she rounded a corner and bumped into a short, stout figure. Her clumsy feet twisted in her dress hem and she fell, ungracefully, to the ground. Her body met stone is a whirlwind of limbs. Leòwyn cringed, resisting the urge to rub her behind in public to lessen the pain.

Bertha's face was a step below a snarl as she hauled the brunette off the floor. "Now, just wut do ye think yer doin'? Stormin' through the Keep with yer shirt tails on fire."

"You have my apologies Bertha, but I have been searching for Lady Eòwyn all morn. She has not been in any crevice I have looked. I did not hurt you did I?"

The old woman tsked, but a small smile broke her scowling face. "Donu't worry fer me. Tho ye are the reason ma ole bones have more demands than before."

Leòwyn quirked an eyebrow, "I will take that as your thanks, my friend."

Bertha cackled, her dry lips splitting into a wide smile. "Aye, deary. I thank ye. Ma family thanks ye as well."

Leòwyn was momentarily distracted from the pain in her backside and her hunt of the Shieldmaiden. She had not even bothered to ask Bertha about her personal life. Shame made her face flush. "Your family?"

Bertha nodded sagely, "Yessum. Ma daughter and her husband. An' their wee ones. Two lasses."

Her smile was sad, a pang of loss hitting her, but Leòwyn allowed her joy to radiate from her _Fea._ Bertha had proven to be one of the few who could sense her _Fea_. Leòwyn wondered if she had a long lost ancestor that had been an elf.

"I am happy to know that you are not alone, Mistress Bertha. I should have asked sooner."

Bertha snorted, the moisture in her eyes taking the heat from the gesture. "Aye, well. That be why I keep ma life to maself."

Leòwyn smiled at the gruff woman. Bertha had a way about her that reminded her of the woman who she used to call _Oma. _Her _Oma_, an older woman who had lived on the outskirts of the nearest town, had been a frequent companion of a young Leòwyn. The younger Leòwyn, who had had no friends her age, found solace in the grandmotherly figure. Merida had been her name.

Leòwyn snapped back to the present, her daydreaming being caught by the Mistress of Ceremony, if her unimpressed expression was anything to go by.

"Now, off with ye, girl. Tha White Lady won't find 'erself. 'Ave ye checked Queen Morwen's garden per chance?" the old woman winked before striding past Leòwyn, arm swinging with purpose, and a golden key around her neck.

The young woman sighed, giving in to the urge to rub her bottom after taking a quick look around. It only made the tender flesh ache more so with a mind to ignore the pain Leòwyn continued down the hall. She knew not where Queen Morwen's gardens were but if she could find a member of the Royal family, they would.

She had been looking for Théodred but Eòmer, so it happens, was stalking up the steps of the Golden Hall as Leòwyn stepped out of the small servant's staircase. _Does this man ever look pleasant?_ She thought to herself before catching his gaze.

His eyes softened marginally at her appearance before altering his steps to meet her before the massive, carved doors of the King's Hall. She doubted anyone would have been able to read him as well as she could. Her sharp eyes aided her in seeing the small changes in his expressions. He kept himself very well guarded for a Man. The doorwardens, who had braced up at his approach, clearly could not see what she did.

Leòwyn had grown considerably closer to the man she had never expected to like. At least not after their first meeting. She allowed herself to think of him almost as a cousin nowadays, and knew he felt a protectiveness towards her that was platonic in nature. Eòmer was Théodred's most trusted confidant, which explained his loyalty towards her, even if they did not see eye to eye on some occasions.

Eòmer stopped before her, his large frame giving the appearance that he was talking to the wooden doors, if anyone were to look from behind him. They both took a few steps to the side so as not to block traffic.

"My Lady, is there something you need?" his voice was a deep baritone.

"How many times must I ask you to call me by my given name?" Leòwyn asked, hands rising to rest on her thin waist.

A snort, his version of a chuckle, escaped his lips before he pinned her with an intimidatingly blank stare. He drew his massive shoulders back to straighten to his impressive height. He stood even a few inches taller than Théodred. _What is in the water in Rohan?_ Had been her first thought at seeing the two cousins standing side by side.

She had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. This tactic he had used before so Leòwyn was prepared. She narrowed her eyes, lips pressing together into a hard line.

They stared at each other for a few moments longer, neither moving so much as a hair. Leòwyn could feel her will waning under his withering stare but she had one more trick up her sleeve to make him break. She flicked an eyebrow almost up to her hairline, an impressive feat, and watched the skin below his eye begin to twitch. She raised the other to even out her expression, her glacier eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

Eòmer's face crumbled all at once, a wide smile taking over his face. His laugh drew the attention of the riders currently entering the hall. "That was very clever, Leòwyn. But you shall not win the next round."

Leòwyn gave a funny bow, whirling her arms to her side with playful abandon. "That is not all I have up my sleeve, Master Horselord. It would be wise not to underestimate me."

Eòmer shook his head, laughter subsiding into a small smiling expression. "I shall endeavor not to. Now, as to my previous question."

Leòwyn took his change of topic in stride. "I need to find Eòwyn, and I have an inclination to check Queen Morwen's garden but do not know how to find it."

The brute of a man nodded, throwing out an arm which she carefully placed her hand on. Together they entered the hall, their attention immediately taken by the group at the front of the large chamber. All had turned at their appearance.

Eòmer made a subtle face at the King, The Prince, and numerous advisors packed around the small table in front of the dais. Leòwyn spotted Gandalf in his flowing white robes, sticking out of the crowd of dark colors. Lord Aragorn and his companions were also included in the group of men.

They all seemed to understand Eòmer's signal for they turned back to their planning as one. Théodred caught her eye and winked before facing his father, his expression carefully blank but his eyes seared her. Leòwyn felt the flush of pleasant heat and had to suppress her love-sick smile.

Almost overnight the hall had been transformed from a place of festivity to where battles were being planned. As Eòmer, with Leòwyn on his arm, moved through the hall towards the side exit, people moved out of their way, many bowing until they were almost bent in half. She could feel multitudes of eyes on her back. Her shoulders tensed on instinct and she fought to control the urge to hasten her steps. There were many things more frightening than people watching her, she knew. She was slowly adapting to her elvin senses informing her of watchful eyes. Nonetheless it made her feel disjointed and spread thin.

Eòmer seemed to notice her tension for he leaned down to whisper, "Pretend as if they are birds. Surely the eyes of birds carry little weight. Level your chin, and walk proudly for they are merely looking to you for strength and guidance. It is a burden you must now carry."

Leòwyn knew he was right. She saw little judgement in the eyes of the people of Rohan. She could read apprehension, muted curiosity, and fear of the future in their almost wild gazes, but the people of Rohan were hearty if anything. Many had weather storms and hardship most of their lives. Leòwyn had had a gentle upbringing but if anything that gave her more reason to impart strength to those who had little left. She would endeavor to be their storm guard.

So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and straightened her posture. Her purpose was now much clearer. As Queen, she was to be a pillar, standing tall next to Théodred for all to look at and take what they could. She had not been born to lead, but the Valar had chosen her for this path. She would have to make her own peace with the uncomfortable feeling of people staring and the whispers she could just hear.

She leveled her gaze, not at her feet, but directly forward and received an approving grunt from of the man whose arm she was on. Her nerves failed to settle but at least on the outside she looked calm.

"Does it ever become easy?" she asked.

Eòmer shrugged, "It was not so hard just a few years past. In times of peace, perhaps when Eòwyn and I were young. 'Tis not the same now. And it shall never be easy but better once peace is hard won once more or the world falls to Mordor."

Leòwyn felt a dire shiver race across her spin. She remembered the day she had felt the wind shift. She hadn't been much younger than she was now. It had never turned back but she had not known the warning it had held for the fate of the Realms of Men.

To think the One Ring had been found and the fate of the world balanced on the shoulders of a small Halfling. She thought of Merry and Pippin, imagined them in mortal peril for the sake of others. She did not like the image.

Eòmer led her through the halls swiftly, Leòwyn lost in thought on his arm. She kept her head level but her eyes were not focused on anything in the waking world. Eòmer's body weight shifted and came to a halt all in one motion, dragging her with him. He then directed her attention before them, nodding to a beautifully wrought glass door that caused Leòwyn to gasp quietly.

She had never seen true glass. The material to make such products traveled all the way from the Harad, where the white sand was said to stretch as far as the eye could see. Only a handful of master craftsmen were known to work that sand into works of art, the end result in front of her.

Leòwyn did not dare to guess how much the beautifully paneled glass had cost. It was even colored, vibrant reds and greens swirling in Rohirric patterns and into the shape of plants and horses.

"Queen Morwen's Garden."

"I have only heard stories of the refinement of sand into glass. I thought them exaggerated."

"This door was a gift to the Queen from Uncle's father. Legend goes that the love they shared was so strong that there was naught that Thengel King would not give her. The glass was said to be a match for her loveliness, the red coloring matching the shade of her hair perfectly."

Leòwyn smiled, "That is a beautiful story. It is truly wonderful." She stared in awe at the work of art.

Eòmer nodded, turning to look down at her. "I had once thought that love had abandoned the family of the King. You are proof that I was wrong. And I am grateful."

Leòwyn blushed lightly, and inclined her head at Eòmer's bow. He brought her hand, recently clasped on his arm, to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on its lightly tanned skin. With one last glance, the man turned neatly and moved back the way they had come with large strides. He had disappeared around the corner before Leòwyn gathered her courage to turn back to the elegant door and push it open slightly, the opening only big enough to allow her small frame to fit through.

With a deep breath, the brunette stepped lightly onto the worn stone path of Queen Morwen's garden and let the glass door swing closed behind her.

As Leòwyn stepped carefully through the garden, she found herself caught in the nature around her. A sense of home, of her meadow, settled in her chest and she felt tears sting her eyes. She had not given herself time to grieve the loss of her previous life, and it haunted the back of her mind like a shadow. Being surrounded once more by green life, birds flittering from bush to tree, soothed the shadow, for now.

She spotted Eòwyn, garbed in a light blue gown with a brown vest, seated before a small pond. The White Lady made no sign that she heard her approach, so Leòwyn purposefully loudened her steps, close to stomping on the stone to make a noise. At her footfalls, Eòwyn raised her golden head, bloodshot eyes making contact with glacier blue.

Leòwyn could feel her worry bubble to the surface, reflected in her eyes. Eòwyn dropped her gaze to the pond once more, hair falling to obscure her heart-shaped face. Leòwyn took a few more light steps before stopping behind Eòwyn. She lowered herself to the ground.

The two friends sat quietly, gazing at the small orange fish that lived their lives in the pond. The vibrant color of their scales reminded Leòwyn of the once vibrant personality of the woman who sat beside her. _Where had that woman gone?_

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find me." There was no emotion behind her words. Eòwyn reflected an empty shell and that thought angered Leòwyn.

"The woman I know would not have made me search an entire city for her, hiding away like a mouse from an owl. The woman I know would have stood tall and boxed the ears of the man who was stupid enough not see her worth."

Eòwyn's shoulders bunched, a sign that Leòwyn had struck a nerve, but she did not respond. Her self-pity outweighed her pride.

The still air was rustled by a soft wind, its heat carrying evidence of the summer season. It lifted the edges of Eòwyn's loose hair, and made it wave around her head like a halo. Silence stretched onward. Just when Leòwyn was beginning to fidget, cornflower blue eyes raised and a tired expression crossed the Lady's pale face.

"I have done this to myself," a laugh filled with derision escaped her pale lips. "I am ashamed to admit I was angry with you that night. I wished you to be wrong. But I cannot deny the truth of your words, nor my belief that you would not intend me harm. I have been foolish."

Leòwyn grasped one of the other woman's hands in hers. "It is not foolish to love. You were following your heart and I, for one, do not fault you for it."

Eòwyn grimaced, aiming for a smile but her eyes remained pained. "It is almost worse than when I thought him dead. Knowing he is alive but does not return my feelings."

With a sigh, Leòwyn spoke "Eòwyn, I did not mean to hurt you, only provide you the truth. I am sorry for causing you pain. I swear I did not mean it, I wish you had found out differently."

Eòwyn squeezed her hand tightly as Leòwyn reached over to throw an arm around her shoulders. That seemed to be a trigger, for the steely eyed woman broke into tears, sobs coming out of her mouth in an increasing tempo. For her part, Leòwyn kept a tight hold on the shaking form of her friend, even as her arms began to tire from the constant pressure. She could not leave Eòwyn in this state so she allowed the curled form of the White Lady to sink to the floor fully, to rest her golden head on Leòwyn's grey dress.

"You will move past this, Eòwyn. You are strong." She did not know if the woman heard her almost whispered words.

Leòwyn watched as the sun tracked across the sky, its brilliance dimed by the dark clouds that seemed to envelope the sky. The days were getting darker, clouds rising from the south, tracking north to blanket the land. Leòwyn knew the time of reckoning was drawing near and could only prey that her new family would survive the battles to come. She let her thoughts wander, hope warring with reality in her mind. Her hands absently stroked the hair of Eòwyn.

After some time, Leòwyn glanced down to see Eòwyn had fallen asleep in her lap, tear tracks clearly visible on her face. At least for now she was in peace. That peace would be shattered when she once more woke but Leòwyn decided to let her slumber on, even with the cramps in her legs and stiffening of her back. Physical pain was easy to ignore for Leòwyn, so used to sitting for hours on the hunt for food, and so she did just that, sitting motionless for another candle mark before Eòwyn stirred.

The White Lady opened her eyes and noticed where she was, her head pillowed on Leòwyn's thighs. With a lurch, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, face reddening brightly. Leòwyn smiled at her friend and held up a hand before Eòwyn could speak.

"You needed rest and I'm afraid I could not bring myself to rouse you. But now that you are awake, I demand you come with me to the kitchens. You have not eaten today, have you?"

Eòwyn shook her head, still hiding her red cheeks in her hands. Leòwyn stood, muscles stretching uncomfortably and Eòwyn followed. Taking her hand in hers, Leòwyn placed it in the crook of her arm and guided them both out of the garden.

"You are a wonderful friend, you know." Eòwyn's solemn voice had Leòwyn turning to face her. She struggled to keep her face blank, smiling now would ruin her advantage.

With mock seriousness Leòwyn nodded and raised her nose into the air, looking down at the other woman. Her haughty behavior finally drew a strangled giggle from Eòwyn's mouth.

Eòwyn had once mentioned that she hated how high and mighty the women of the court acted sometimes. A noblewoman from Gondor had even visited once and Eòwyn had done a hilarious impersonation that had had Leòwyn in stitches.

Leòwyn knew her humor was skeptical at best. Being raised by only her mother and at times her _Oma _had left Leòwyn with little opportunity to refine it. She found many normal things to be funny. Unfortunately she also found things that were not supposed to be funny to, in fact, be quite hilarious. It was her luck that she had found people that embraced her for it.

Eòwyn elbowed her in the side softly before leaning over to hug her. Leòwyn wrapped her arms around her friend once more, squeezing tightly. "Thank you." Eòwyn whispered into her ear.

"You are my first friend here. Did you think me so uncaring that I would leave you to wallow in your own self-pity?" Leòwyn smiled.

Eòwyn mock gasped. "I was not wallowing."

"Oh, yes you were. Eòwyn the Wallowing Lady, we shall rename you," Leòwyn laughed at Eòwyn's pinched expression, her eyes bright. She was unable to dodge the swift punch that Eòwyn delivered to her shoulder.

"Have mercy! This is how you repay me for my kindness?" Leòwyn asked, trying to control her laughter but it soon had her hunched over. Eòwyn, still subdued, couldn't help but grin widely back at the shaking form of the future Queen of Rohan.

"You really are strange, Leòwyn. Does nothing dim your exuberance?" Eòwyn asked, as Leòwyn recovered from her humor. The two continued walking towards the kitchens, intending to beg for some food from Old Sewig.

"I have lived a blessed life. Even now, in the midst of preparing for a war that will decide the fate of the world as we know it, I find things to be thankful for. I am thankful for you today." She responded, smile firmly in place.

Leòwyn did not want others to know how hard she found it to keep positive some times. She prided herself on her ability to summon a smile or a laugh at any time. Overall, she considered herself a happy person and strived to infect others with that feeling.

Eòwyn's eyes filled with tears before she turned away abruptly. Leòwyn heard her sniffle anyway. "Enough of that. I am tired of crying today."

Leòwyn nodded, entering the door to the kitchen and coming face to face with Old Sewig, who happened to be trying to exit the kitchens as they walked in. Leòwyn stopped herself from running into his bulk by inches. She took a small step back.

She produced a luminescent smile, "Dear Master Cook. How are you this day?"

Sewig scrutinized her face with a gaze before bowing slightly, to both her and Eòwyn who stood further back. The slight apprehension on Eòwyn's face did more to solidify Sewig's reputation in Leòwyn's head than any of the rumors she had heard.

"My Ladies. What can I do for ya?" Sewig's lightly accented voice stopped all motion in the kitchen. The servants, unused to the gruff kitchen master talking, all began to whisper with wide eyes.

Their voices not only caught Leòwyn's attention but also the attention of the warg of the King's Kitchens. Sewig spun around, nimble despite his bulk, and barked, "Get back to work, ye logs or I'll have you workin' midnight shift as well."

His threat had its intended reaction, the kitchen becoming noisy once more as servants rushed about and cook assistants worked diligently on the evening sup. Sewig turned back to the women in his presence.

Leòwyn looked at him, eyebrows raised, "It had come to my attention that Lady Eòwyn has not eaten yet today, Sewig. We cannot let this stand. She is in need of sustenance. Will you help me in this endeavor?"

If possible, Sewig's gaze sharpened even further, fixing on the form of the lady behind Leòwyn. His gaze was full of reproach. It was a sin in his eyes to ever skip a meal, much less a meal provided by him. She could practically feel the White Lady shrinking, and almost pitied her but she had had enough pity today to last years.

"Never let it be said that the King's kitchens does not provide for those under its care. I have just the thing, my Lady."

Leòwyn had to suppress a victorious smile as the old kitchen master nodded and bustled through the kitchen, gathering dry meats, cheeses, and fruits into a small basket. She watched flaky pastries disappear into the wooden container and almost drooled. He even fetched an unopened bottle of wine and placed two mugs into the pail after it. He returned to place it directly into Leòwyn's waiting arms.

"Bring the basket back, if you please my lady. Or hand it to any of the servants, they shall see it returned to me." The rotund man winked at her before shooing her, and Eòwyn behind her, out of his domain.

Outside the doors of the kitchen, Leòwyn looked through the basket and was pleased with her findings. Sewig had given them quite a bit of food and she was pleased that the wine looked to be the same vintage as the one at the feast. Looking up, she stopped at Eòwyn's expression.

"What is it?" she asked, eyebrows coming together.

"How is it that you have charmed the most cantankerous kitchen master Edoras has ever seen? Not even Uncle can make him that agreeable."

Leòwyn smiled, "I am exuberant, remember. Sewig is an old soul. When I cannot sleep, I find myself ending up in the kitchens with a mug of cocoa and Sewig as company."

Eòwyn's astonished look caught Leòwyn off guard right before the White Lady dissolved into howling laughter. Leòwyn stood before her, a puzzled expression on her face while Eòwyn roared. The commotion she was causing drew onlookers to the small doorway that connected the kitchens to the Great Hall.

Théodred's head popped through the archway, followed by Eòmer and to Leòwyn's surprise the King. Théoden's face lightened as he gazed his niece. She watched as grins overtook all three faces as they watched Eòwyn, who had turned red-faced once more, laugh.

Théodred stepped through the door, coming to Leòwyn's side. "What have you done to my cousin, Leòwyn?"

Her name on his lips snapped her attention from Eòwyn to his warmth beside her. She frowned. "I did nothing. I merely told her that Sewig and I are friends, by way of evidence in this basket, and then this happened."

Théodred looked at her with raised eyebrows before chuckling lightly, his laughter mixing with Eòwyn's dying snorts. "Old Sewig likes very few people. Somehow I am not surprised that you are one of them."

He kissed the side of her head before perusing the contents of the basket on her arm. Eòwyn had regained some semblance of composure and swatted his hands away from the food.

"That is not for you cousin. I would hate for Sewig to learn that the food he gifted Leòwyn did not go to its intended."

Théodred retracted his hand and seemed to pale, his eyes growing wide.

"You remember that time you stole a plate full of his newly made spice buns before Yule. He had never forgiven you." Eòwyn warned, her face regaining some of its healthy color.

Leòwyn couldn't help the giggle that escaped her at his stricken expression. Théodred narrowed her eyes at them both and Leòwyn knew that signaled trouble. She quickly turned, grasping Eòwyn's hand and ran down the hall, racing away from the Prince. She could hear his echoing laughter behind them.

Once they had stopped their flight, Eòwyn took the lead, bringing Leòwyn back to the garden they had just left. "Is this okay? I find it more peaceful than eating in the Great Hall."

Leòwyn nodded, "I miss the feeling of being surrounded by nature, and this garden reminds me of it."

They both took seats, this time at a stone bench, and broke open the wine first. As they ate, they conversed very little, both content to replenish their strength without words. Each had had two mugs of strong rohirric wine before Eòwyn broke the silence.

"Do you ever feel as if you were destined for something greater than to be a noble lady?"

Leòwyn snorted into her cup, raised to her lips for another sip. She was feeling a light buzz from the drink. "I was not born to be a noble lady, Eòwyn."

Eòwyn cast her a glance in return. "You don't honestly believe such nonsense do you?"

Leòwyn hummed. "I believe in fate and the will of the Valar but my life would have taken a different path had the One Ring not been found. Had there not been a battle at the fords. Théodred entering my life was the will of the Valar in response to the change upon the world."

"Sometimes I feel as if I am not needed, being only a woman in a world of men."

"You wish for another fate?" Leòwyn asked.

"I wish to be useful, to be remembered for something other than the wife of some lord or another."

"I do not see that as your only fate, Eòwyn. While the Valar decide our fate, our choices define what path that fate travels. It is up to you to make a decision to change the fate you are the path of."

They fell silent, Leòwyn worrying that Eòwyn would get into something that would risk her life. She had the inkling suspicion that Eòwyn would play a part in the battle to come, no matter how much Leòwyn wished she wouldn't.

Once the wine had been finished and they had eaten their fill, Leòwyn suggested they head back to give Sewig his basket. The both moved slowly through the halls, caught in their own thoughts. Stopping before the kitchen, they both froze as a loud argument reached their ears from the archway to the Great Hall. The two women shared a glance before Eòwyn crouched and stepped closer.

Both froze when they heard the calm voice of the white wizard. "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring. We've been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of the enemies plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Leòwyn stifled a small gasp, her eyes connecting with Eòwyn's, deep worry reflected in both.

Gandalf continued, "His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing. He knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough perhaps to challenge him."

Gandlaf paused, perhaps in suspense. "Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raise Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the Throne of Men. If the beacons are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

Silence descended and Leòwyn strained her hearing to its limit to hear the soft spoken words of her King. "Tell me. Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?"

Leòwyn felt anger rise within her. How could Théoden be so selfish? The world's fate was hanging by a thread. A thread that connected Men to Men. Gondor to Rohan. If one fell, so would the other follow. Why could he not see that? Eòwyn cast confused eyes towards the brunette, no longer able to hear their conversation but Leòwyn could.

Lord Aragorn spoke next, "I will go."

"No."

"They must be warned." He hissed.

"They will be. You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river, look to the black ships."

Gandalf raised his voice to address all those in the Hall. "Understand this. Things are in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith, and I won't be going alone."

With the following silence, Leòwyn retreated from the archway, dragging Eòwyn with her. She pressed a finger to her lips and watched Eòwyn nod before retreating to the kitchen and quickly placing the basket on one of the preparing table. Sewig would find it.

Once back in the hall, Leòwyn grabbed Eòwyn's arm and in a flurry of movement raced back to her room, dragging the White Lady behind her. As they stepped into her room, she swiftly shut the door and locked the bolt before turning and meeting Eòwyn's worried gaze.

"Leòwyn, what was that conversation about?"

And so she told her everything. The fate of the world would be decided at the foot of the White City, the seat of power of the Realm of Gondor. A sense of impending doom rattled through the two women, both sinking to the pelt covered floor in front of the banked fire.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

The early morning dawn saw a white stallion and two rider's storm from the King's stables, and out onto the plains of the Valley of Harrowdale. The horse was none other than Shadowfax, Lord of All Horses and one of the true blooded _Mearas_. One of the riders looked to be the size of a child, perched in front of the well-known form of the White Wizard.

If one were to glance from whence they came, another small form could be seen, hiding in the shadows of the stables and staring in the direction they had departed.

The air in the city of the Horselords seemed as if a giant had taken a deep breath and held it. The shoulders of all that walked through its streets felt as if there was an invisible pressure weighting them down, pushing their feet into the dirt. Edoras was on the brink of a steep cliff, and all were waiting for the word of the King to tip over the edge. None felt this more than those residing within the Golden Hall.

Rumors swirled in the streets, many making the connection between the dark clouds on the horizon and the departure of the White Wizard. Fear was heavy upon the minds of all, from the smallest babe to the oldest crone. Meduseld had become a place of whispers, servants tiptoeing to make as little noise as possible and burly warriors traversing the pathways with urgency driving their steps. It seemed to Leòwyn as if the days passed second by second, each moment a burden. Even the bright sun of summer seemed dimmed as the wind brought the sounds of screams that woke Leòwyn up in the night.

She paced soundlessly in front of the fireplace in her chambers, her mind whirling with the same energy that caused her steps. There were many issues that occupied her thoughts but none as much as the White Lady of Rohan. Eòwyn had been on her mind for some time with the almost frantic gleam in the other womans eyes at the prospect of war sending shivers down the Healer's spine. Leòwyn felt her mind spinning in circles, revolving around the neice of the King. Her fear for her newly formed family felt as if she had swallowed a rock so heavy her stomach was bound to explode.

Her feet would wear a hole in the stone if she tracked those steps once more, so with a flutter of cream fabric she thrust the door open. Leòwyn stormed down the halls of the Golden Hall, desperately searching for someone or something to distract her from all that had been going wrong these past days. She could not even rely on the steady presence that was the Prince of Rohan.

Théodred had been locked away with his father and fellow Marshalls for days. She hadn't even seen him at supper and it was fraying her nerves. No one knew that the two women had overheard such an important conversation that day in the Golden Hall and Eòwyn had made her swear to keep it to herself.

Many would consider it luck that she had been parted from the Prince, for Leòwyn couldn't guarantee that she would be able to keep her promise if he asked. Keeping things from him made her uncomfortable and without a doubt that he would notice.

With a huff, Leòwyn forced her treacherous feet from the direction of the Hall. Her body was screaming at her to go to him but she would not break a promise to her friend if she could help it, no matter how worried she was. Besides, there was not much he could do with the information once he had it. There was no way to take back what they had heard. And he could most certainly blame her for ease dropping in the first place. Leòwyn grimaced, her heart beating uncertainly in her chest.

Eòwyn had not exactly declared her intention to join the Rohirrim if Gondor called for aid, but Leòwyn was far from slow witted. She knew what the White Lady yearned for. She just worried that in her pursuit of glory, Eòwyn would lose herself to it. That thought brought back the unpleasant feeling of sinister pressure she had felt upon waking this morning. For a moment, it had been as if something, nay someone, was in her mind. The out of body experience caused a wave of dizziness that forced Leòwyn to grip the worn wall of the passageway and duck her head to keep from meeting the floor.

_'Could this have followed me into the waking world?'_

To say she had slept well was not at all accurate. The young maiden had been plagued by strange dreams of late. Dreams that left a feeling of terror but no memory of why. Leòwyn clenched her teeth as the dizziness passed but the sense of wrongness lingered. She forced her feet to move in an effort to force the sensation away.

Leòwyn stepped outside a servant passage, and decided to visit Felaròf. The poor horses were being kept inside the gates and had very little room to truly graze. Knowing the warhorse as she did, she knew he would be just as anxious as she.

Clasping her hands to the opposite elbow across her stomach, she attempted to keep her walk steady as she made her way over the green grass of the grounds to the King's stables. A woman running from the Great Hall to the stables would certainly arouse suspicion.

Felaròf was where she had last seen him, stabled in a larger than average section of the expansive barn. As a descendant of the _Mereas_, and one of the King's household mounts, he was a spoiled horse, even in times of war. The enormous buckskin was given an honorary stable, provided extra oats in the mornings, and stable hands paid special care towards his coat, which shone dully in the daylight.

With a sigh, Leòwyn moved into his stall, catching the animal's attention immediately. She couldn't hold in a smile as the horse turned away from his hay to greet her with a thump of his head in her chest. Her hand magically produced a large carrot and held it out invitingly.

"_Hello, lovelui roch,"_ she whispered, _"maui im join cin?"_

Leòwyn received a whicker in response and so picked up a brush from the bucket outside Felaròf's stall and began to gently stroke the back of her mount. Felaròf eyed her out of the corner of his eye, as if sensing her turmoil, before returning to his meal. He let her brush him down, twice, before the horse swatted her with his tail and turned another baleful eye towards her. Leòwyn gave a helpless, despondent chuckle.

"_Im am sorrui, mui mel."_

She placed the brush down and flopped, almost wallowing in her own self-doubt, down on the hay covered floor. Her face was soon invaded by Felaròf's nose and she laughed quietly, pushing the brute away. The horse gave no thought to personal space, preferring to be as close as possible to her when she visited.

He allowed his head to be pushed, giving her some space, but stood, watching her, as if deciding what to do about her presence. Leòwyn swore she saw it in his eyes the moment the warhorse made his decision. He then did something that she would have thought abnormal had she not been familiar with the oddities of the _Mearas_. Each of the legendary horses of Rohan had distinct personalities, and many had the intelligence rumored to have been the result of Elvish magic.

Felaròf huffed and circled her before collapsing his weight to the ground, directly behind where Leòwyn had sat. She smiled in gratitude as she realized that this would allow her to lean backwards and rest against his side. The stall had recently been cleaned and so had her horse so she probably wouldn't smell too bad once she decided to leave the safety of his calm aura.

Leòwyn found herself staring down at her hands, which could not settle, as they twisted and turned in her lap. Eòwyn's face rose once more to the forefront of her mind. So focused on her slim fingers was she that she started as Felaròf laid his massive head in her lap, curling his neck around her person. Her hands then turned to fingering the coarse hair of the _Mearas'_ mane.

She let out a huge breath before reaching a hand between his eyes. Who would have thought a battle trained warhorse would love his forehead scratched?

Leòwyn suddenly wished desperately for someone to talk to, someone who would not betray her secrets and who was not a horse. No matter how intelligent Felaròf was, a horse was still a horse. He could not impart advice towards the feelings of a woman. Especially the feelings of a woman at the brink of a war, on the brink of losing much she holds dear. She had quietly, her fidgetting slowly calming, as she allowed her hands to compulsory rub the heavy horse head in her lap.

Leòwyn knew not how long she sat, curled around her bonded, before as if appearing from thin air, Aragorn walked past Felaròf's stall. He made eye contact with the brunette on the dirt floor, humor coloring his expression. The smile he sent her was slightly rueful as if it was no surprise to find her, a future queen, on the floor of a horse's stall, with said horse fawning over her like a mother hen.

Felaròf, upon seeing the Ranger, scrambled his feet and took a few warning steps forward, blocking Leòwyn from view with his bulk. Leòwyn had to dive out of the way or risk getting kicked accidently. Her reaction time surprised even her, and Aragorn seemed similarily impressed as he eyed her to assure she was not injured. She shook her head slightly, recieveing a nod in return as they both directed their attentions to the riled horse stomping in the Heir of Ilendil's direction.

Felaròf had lowered his head, focus entirely on the stranger in his midst. As her heart settled, Leòwyn laughed quietly, but also rose to her feet, patting the side of the steed.

"_Sidh_, Felaròf. Lord Aragorn is a friend." The man rose one eyebrow at her use of Sindarin but his eyes never left the buckskin. His hands came up to rest above his shoulders, palms out.

Leòwyn spoke again, her humor at the situation raising her spirits slightly, "I apologize for my overgrown protector, my Lord. Rohirric mounts are known to be quite aggressive and he is very fond of me. I cannot say that I do not adore him equally as much."

She was still stroking the soft hide of the large horse, who finally stepped backwards but threw his head in the air in warning. Lord Aragorn covered his look of alarm with a calm disposition that was his normal but not quickly enough to hide it from the elf-maiden. She graced him with a small smile, recieving one in return.

"I cannot blame him. To have such a fair bonded," he stated.

With a smirk, "Do not tell me your affection has fled my dear cousin and turned towards me, my Lord."

Aragorn scoffed before he caught the teasing undertone in her voice. An answering smirk stole over his face, almost dangerous, "As fair as thee are my Lady, nothing would be worth a fight against the Prince."

A deep bow followed his proclamation. Leòwyn laughed lightly and nodded.

Like most men from Gondor, Lord Aragorn had a smaller physique than those common in the Riddermark. He had long, lean arms, more suited for speed then brute strength and quick feet. The Dúnedain was notoriously formidable, but there was little competition between Théodred and Aragorn when it came to power.

Leòwyn considered teasing him once more but her humor quickly fled at the thought of Eòwyn's devastation. She frowned as frustration rose to choke her. Aragorn was a noble man, more so than many she had met. Leòwyn doubted that he had intentionally meant to harm her friend.

Leòwyn cleared her throat, the lump that had formed seeming to try and keep the words she wanted to say from coming out. "Will you walk with me?"

Aragorn nodded, offering his arm. She turned back to direct her attention to Felaròf and bid the steed goodbye with a kiss on the nose. Aragorn belly laughed when the warhorse shoved his massive head into her torso, partially expelling the breath from her chest.

Turning with a slight pant, she took the offered arm and they slowly walked out of the King's stable.

"Something is on your mind, my Lady."

"Leòwyn, please. I am not accustomed to the use of a title just yet. And do not wish it amongst friends."

Aragorn nodded. They walked in silence, Leòwyn realizing that he was leading them towards the guard post on the hill just below the Golden Hall. It had a perfect vantage point of the Beacon of Halifirien on the White Mountain of Amon Anwar.

The Ranger allowed her to take a seat first, both of them facing towards the east. He sighed before breaking the silence first once more.

"There are many nights that I cannot sleep. I come here to sit and watch for the beacon to light. Gandalf will not have reached Minas Tirith but I cannot stop the growing worry I feel in my mind. I cannot say how much longer we can wait."

Leòwyn sighed, "The White City shall not fall without a fight. Have faith in your people. They will last until the Men of Rohan muster."

Aragorn hummed, "But will Rohan come?"

Leòwyn shot an affronted look at the ranger. "Do you question the honor of my countrymen?"

"It is not their honor I doubt, Leòwyn. I doubt their sense should they aid mine."

She turned away, pondering his answer. He was right. It did not make much sense for Rohan to risk their entire army, leaving their country unguarded, to ride to the aid of a long lost ally whose relations were tense. Denethor, son of Ecthelion, had never considered aiding Rohan. But she knew Théodred, and to a less extent her King. They would not leave their allies to burn.

Leòwyn placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention from inner brooding. "This war is not Gondor's war alone. Nor is it Rohan's war alone. This is a war for the survival of Men. We must all do our part. And Rohan will do ours."

Aragorn's shoulder seemed to fall in response but he nodded. He cast her a contemplative gaze, "You will be a beloved Queen, Leòwyn, Healer of the White Mountains."

Leòwyn snapped her gaze to him. She saw the complete belief in his eyes and felt hers well with tears. He seemed to sense her fears of inadequacy, for perhaps he carried the same ones, and sought to soothe them.

"I have the same confidence in you, as you have in me, my friend."

Aragorn smiled, "How is that the Valar have chosen two souls such as us to sit on the Thrones of Men?"

Leòwyn laughed, "You have had a destiny since birth, Aragorn, as much as you wished to hide from it. I however was a healer, who lived a life of seclusion. Our blood is not the same."

The man shook his head, "You are the daughter of the sister of Lord Elrond. That makes you the House of Finwe. You are of royal blood as well, my friend."

The woman shrugged. She still did not feel up to the task set before her, royal blood be damned.

Aragorn spoke again. "Shall we make a pack? As rulers of our countries, we shall unite them in peace and renew the bonds of brotherhood between Rohan and Gondor."

Leòwyn cocked an eyebrow, knowing that if Aragorn was speaking thus to her that he had already done so with another. She nodded, "Knowing my betrothed, he has already agreed to this pack. So I will also."

The Ranger smiled mysteriously, the reason for his humor lost on the elf-maiden. She looked up, sharp eyes narrowing on the beacon on Amor Anwar.

"We shall make it through this darkness, Aragorn. I have hope in the Realm of Men."

Aragorn bumped her shoulder before they both turned, staring into the distance. She knew that if Aragorn could will it into flame, he would have.

"What did you wish to speak of when you asked me to accompany you?" Aragorn's voice had a devious undertone.

Leòwyn sighed, she sent a snarky thought to the Valar for answering her prayer for someone to talk to but in such a conscious form. "I am afraid for Eòwyn."

Her gaze dropped to her hands. "We were returning to the kitchens when we overheard the conversation about Pippin and the palantir. It was by mistake but nonetheless we are both aware of the impending battle and the journey a certain hobbit has undertaken. I am afraid that she will ride, disguised, for the sake of valor and she will be lost forever."

Aragorn stewed, if he was surprised to learn about their spy craft he made no sign. "That is something that would not surprise me. She has skill with a blade but is untested in battle. If she were to slip disguised into the ranks of Rohan's army it would be neigh impossible to stop her."

Leòwyn nodded, "And you shall not be with the army."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, a weighted gaze she held stubbornly. He nodded slightly, confirming, before turning away once more.

"I cannot safe guard her, there is another task to which I must attend."

The woman sighed, her hands beginning to twist in her lap. "She is very dear to me, and I can scarcely imagine how the King's blood would take it should she fall."

"Then it is up to you, Leòwyn. Convince her to stay. I wish there was something other to be done, but we are at the dawn of the greatest war of this age. Many will perish before we see the end. Everyone must understand this."

Leòwyn nodded, choking on her fear, before turning to watch the mountain range again.

"I will do what I can, Aragorn. Thank you for speaking honestly with me."

Aragorn nodded, his eyes sorrowful but understanding. He knew that she would be one of the women, left behind. She would have to go through her own pain. Arwen felt similar pain, being left in Rivendell while her family all fought for their fates and in his visions of her, Aragorn felt it as if it were his own. Leòwyn was a healer, much as her esteemed uncle, and would therefore feel the pain of being left but it would be amplified. Empathy was a large burden to carry in a world at war.

The part-elf took a deep breath before deciding she needed to know. "There is one other thing I would speak upon."

At his gaze, she continued, "Have you thusly been unaware of the affections of the White Lady?"

Aragorn was silent for a long moment before he reached up to drag a hand through his hair. Leòwyn recognized the gesture from their talk during the feast. It signaled he was troubled. She let him collect his thoughts and sat quietly, but her blue eyes never left his face.

He looked at her, saw the resolution in her gaze, and dropped his hand. "I was not unaware. I feared this would one day come up. Flirtations are harmless, but there will never be another for me if it is not Arwen."

Leòwyn scowled, her indignation rising. "Flirtations might be harmless to you, wandering Ranger of the North. To a noble woman such as Eòwyn, they are decidedly not. She would have given you her heart."

The man started, his eyes growing wide, "She did not?"

The panic in his voice soothed some of her anger, but Leòwyn was not going to let this fish out of her net. Not just yet.

"No, but not for any action on your part. Had she, my blame would come to rest upon you for misreading her intentions."

Aragorn sighed, partly in relief but Leòwyn sensed the guilty undertone. She spoke once more, laying a hand on his forearm, "She did not know, for you have given her no reason to believe you were spoken for. She was hurt, when I was the one to tell her. That was ill done."

A distracted nod was what she got. "I could have loved her, I think. Eòwyn. She is a proud and beautiful woman. Had I not given my heart to another."

Leòwyn nodded, "Whoever Eòwyn chooses, once this is all over, will have quite a hard time living up to her. You have done that, and so it is no great tribulation to see why she chose you. That does not excuse your actions for though you could have loved her, you do not."

"I shall apologize," he said, dragging a hand through his dark locks once more. Leòwyn raised an eyebrow, unsatisfied with only that.

Aragorn read her expression correctly, giving her an exaggerated eye roll, "and I shall endeavor to make all aware of my intentions, for this moment onward."

Leòwyn nodded resolutely at him. _Men really did need women for everything_, she mused.

Suddenly, a spark of light caught her attention. It was growing from the corner of her eye and as Leòwyn turned towards it, she dragged the Rangers attention to it as well.

The Beacon of Halifirien was ablaze.

Aragorn wasted no time on speech. He turned and ran, with long strides, to the Great Hall. Leòwyn picked up her skirts and followed, keeping pace with the Ranger only just, her Elvin feet sure in their placement for once in her life.

Her skirts were hampering her movement, and running with her hands down at her sides was uncomfortable but she remained determined to follow. This would be a deciding moment in the outcome of the War of the Ring.

They took the stairs one large leap at a time until the throne room doors loomed before them. Aragorn, one step ahead of the elf, shoved with all his momentum. The doorwarden's yelled a warning but went unheeded as the wooden doors blew inward with startling force. They clanged loudly at the front of the long throne room.

The Great Hall was awash with noise as Aragorn's outline, with Leòwyn behind him, became the focus of attention. Both were panting slightly, and Leòwyn's skirts were still grasped in a white knuckled grip. Many of the King's counselors were shouting things at the intrusion before they slowly fell silent as they noticed who had entered the hall. Their Future Queen and the rightful King of Gondor.

Leòwyn's eyes glazed over the fuming men in search of one face which she focused on. A sandy-haired man in leather armor standing next to the King. His eyes were on her as well.

"The Beacons! The Beacons of Amon Din are lit! Gondor calls for aid. " Aragorn's voice boomed in the still air as he took quick steps forward to reach the King.

A deafening silence overcame the gathered crowd. Discreetly, all eyes turned towards the one who held the power to make a fateful decision. Even the Prince ripped his gaze away from the one who held his attention, to his father.

Théoden King stood, arms hanging stiffly by his side, face a mask of emotion. Leòwyn could read hesitance, sorrow, and a building rage. Color rushed to his face, a tell-tale sign of the legendary temper of the Second Line of Rohan's King's.

Silence stretched as the King clearly fought with himself. No one dared to move. Théoden King nodded, almost to himself, then met the eyes of Lord Aragorn himself.

"And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim!"

* * *

At the King's proclamation, Edoras came alive, as a dragon waking from a slumber, with news spreading of the call for arms.

Riders stormed through the gate, spreading across the land to gather others for the impending battle. Men in long green cloaks stalked the streets, and the air was alive with the sound of anxious horses. The cacophony of sounds was not a new experience for Leòwyn. She was vividly reminded of the fright of Helm's Deep and had to take deep breaths to stave off panic.

After the call was sent out, Leòwyn stayed in the Hall, eyes glued on the form of her betrothed as he conferred with the others surrounding the King. She knew he would be one of the Marshal's sent out to gather his éored from the countryside. This could be one of the few moments she had left with him before he went to war for unlike Eòwyn, she was not brave enough to venture into a battle.

As if sensing her attention, Théodred turned and caught her eye. He clapped Eòmer on the back, leaning to whisper something in his ear, before turning towards her. Leòwyn watched as he made his way through a throng of men to reach her side. The pit in her stomach lessened only marginally.

"Come with me," he spoke as he reached out a hand. She grasped it as a lifeline, her palms shaking. Leòwyn let him pull her after him, through the passageways until they arrived at the entrance to Queen Morwen's gardens.

Théodred pushed through the beautifully wrought glass, and brought them to stand before the small pond. To Leòwyn it was as if seeing a memory once more, except Eòwyn was replaced with Théodred and there was no laughter.

Her hand was still clasped in Théodred's warm grasp and she fought back tears seeing their hands together. Everything about her fit perfectly with him. Even the feeling of her hand in his brought her a sense of rightness. She directed her focus to his face and noticed he was watching her.

"I am sorry, _min breostcea. _I've been a terrible bridegroom these past days," he said.

Leòwyn shook her head with a frown, "The fate of the world depends on the actions of our people and should be given all the attention it deserves. Do not apologize for doing what needs to be done."

Théodred looked at her for a moment longer before shaking his head. A soft chuckle escaped his smiling lips. The sound brought butterflies to her stomach. "Not many women would be so understanding, Leòwyn. But it does not excuse me from neglecting you. I will not forgive myself in any case."

Leòwyn gave him an unimpressed stare, her annoyance the last few days sharping her tongue. "Oh, do not think you are forgiven by me either, man of my heart. I was merely stating that I understand your reasoning. Forgiveness is another matter entirely."

He laughed loudly, and brought her into his arms, knowing she would not resist. "There she is. I was wondering where my fierce betrothed had hidden away."

Leòwyn grunted but felt her body relax in his embrace. She was sorely tempted to point out that he would know if he had any idea what had been happening in her life these past days. She struggled with herself before pushing away her pettiness. He did not need her whining in the days ahead.

"I have missed you, Théodred."

The Prince tightened his arms in response and held her for a moment longer, his head coming to rest on top of hers. They were pressed tightly together, her head resting on his broad chest where she could feel his steady heartbeat in her ear. Peace was something hard to come by nowadays, her mind constantly warring with itself and coping with the tensions of the world around her. But here, now, with the Prince holding her, she felt all of that fade away.

Leòwyn almost cried aloud when he pulled away but bit down on her lip, drawing blood into her mouth at the puncture of her canine. She placated herself that he was still holding her hand. The disgruntled look on his face reflected Leòwyn's feelings well. Perhaps Théodred did not want to let go either and the thought made her want to smile.

He raised his free hand to grip the side of her neck, his thumb rubbing lines across her law. "I brought you here to tell you that I must leave, and I had hoped that the nature would make this easier, for you. It is partly selfish on my part, for if you are soothed then this parting will be easier. But after having you in my arms, I now see that nothing can make this easier."

Leòwyn clenched her jaw and firmly stopped the gathering of tears in her eyes. Her heart alternating between sinking and soaring in turn. When Théodred spoke to her as if she were the only important person, and demonstrating his love through actions, she had a hard time controlling her emotions. The fear she felt for him added to it. She knew he felt her jaw tense, as she fought tears, so she spoke.

"I cannot say I am surprised but I had hoped for more time."

Théodred sighed, "The men of my éored will be notified before my arrival but I will oversee the muster in the Westmark. We will ride for Dunharrow in two days' time. Will you join me there?"

Leòwyn physically jerked in surprise. As always, he read her like an open book, sensing her surprise.

"It is tradition for the women of the court to farewell the men. Dunharrow is an ancient meeting place, and will be the spot of the largest gathering in our lifetimes. I would have you there," Théodred leaned his head down, to bring their foreheads together.

She moved forward, giving her answer in the form of a searing kiss. When she made to pull back, Théodred stopped her and pressed closer, arms encircling her form. The taste of him sent Leòwyn's heart racing and the tears she had fought valiantly against slipping over her cheeks. They traveled down her cheeks, hitting their locked lips. Théodred made sound deep in his throat as he tasted her tears. He pulled back, his gaze soft before kissing her gently once more.

They broke apart, still close enough for their breath to mingle as Théodred wiped her tears off her face.

"Do not cry, my love. I will always be with you, even when I am far away."

Leòwyn nodded and refrained from mentioning that when they met in Dunharrow it might be the last time she would ever hold him in her arms, warm and alive. If he fell, so would she. She resolutely pushed the thought out of her mind but another thought nagged at her from the recesses of her mind. She had never gotten around to telling him about their bond. The one that allowed her to sense his presence. How she knew it had only grown stronger because of their mutual affection but it had been the Valar that had formed it in the beginning.

With a wavering smile, Leòwyn knew she needed to tell him. With a reverent prayer she gathered her courage. "There is something I need to tell you."

Théodred nodded, bringing them to the stone bench. Leòwyn gulped in a breath before dropping her gaze to his chest. Suddenly her mouth was too dry for words.

"What is it, Leòwyn?"

Théodred was starting to worry. Leòwyn had paled, her tanned skin sporting a ghostly quality. Her eyes reminded him of the look in a frightened deers eyes and it made the hair on his neck stand straight. The woman he loved with every piece of his heart was afraid of very little and was rarely timid.

Whe she looked up and met his eyes, he smiled at her but frowned as she could not hold his gaze. "The Valar gave me with another gift than the one that traced my footsteps to you. I am bound to you, even when you are from my sight. I can feel you, where you are, and what you are feeling. I can feel things that should not be possible through this bond. And i have hesitated in telling you for I was afraid that you would believe our love was forced upon you." Her voice cracked at the word forced and she stopped to clear her throat and gather her courage once more.

The air between them was still. Leòwyn flinched when Théodred reached out and grasped her chin in his palm, rising her head to meet his eyes. There was an intense look on his face that had her thoughts fleeing her mind.

"Can you sense what I am feeling now?" he asked.

Leòwyn frowned, closing her eyes to focus. Usually she could feel any strong emotions coming from him immediately but it took her a moment to find his_ fea _this time, even with how close they were. She gasped at the feeling of certainity, so different that is was from the ardent love or steaming anger that was his pendulum swing. She opened her eyes.

"Valar or not, I have chosen to be with you Leòwyn, daughter of Lilithien. Even without a bond, I would have chosen you the second I met you, for you are my one." His voice was low and even, the confidence within it striking at her heart. "I have felt bonded to you for almost as long as I have known you. And while it might have started as a bond by the Valar, it is now a bond I would choose time and time again."

Leòwyn sighed but it came out more of a sob, burying her head in Théodred's chest and marveled at the weight that seemed to come off her chest. She hadn't known how impactful those words would be to her, for she had underestimated her fear of rejection. A part of her _fea_ seemed to glow brighter in her mind's eye as she settled firmly in her belief that Théodred was hers for reasons they had chosen.

Théodred for his part, let her cry until her tears had made his leather armor slippery touch, and held her in his arms until she squirmed. When she pulled back, he smiled and kissed her again. He then rose, taking her hand once more.

"I cannot tarry any longer, my love. Éothain is waiting for me, I am sure."

Leòwyn nodded, wiping her face, and drawing her shoulders back. She paused and took a deep breath, eyes closing. She resisted the urge to fuss with her dress, knowing there were wrinkles in the thin material. After a few steadying breaths she opened her eyes and stepped towards the door with Théodred on her arm. Leowyn ruthlessly squashed her emotions and turned to look at him.

She noticed his wide smile, and blushed when he stated, "That's my strong girl."

Her eyes rolled in response almost before she registered her own humor, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Théodred's booming laughter echoed through the hall in front of them.

They quickly made their way to the stables, where Éothain was waiting with two saddled horses. Théodred had been correct in assuming the genile captain was waiting for his Marshal, none too patiently. Brégo stomped forcefully when he sensed his rider's presence, quickly calmed by Théodred's hand on his head.

"Hush, you beast. We shall be gone soon enough."

He then turned towards Leòwyn, pushing a hand into her hair, the silky chocolate strands running over his hand. Leòwyn thanked her mother for inheriting hair that never tangled - the hair of the Eldar.

"I will see you in Dunharrow. Look for me on the eve of the second night."

She nodded, and sighed as he hugged her one more time, placing a kiss on her forehead. Leòwyn stood, rooted in the spot, as Théodred swung onto Brégo's back, throwing his horehair helmet on his head, and gave a barked order. Soon enough the men following him had exited Edoras and were streaming across the plains, heading west. She watched as their leader turned in his saddle, standing to raise a hand in farewell to the lone woman in cream upon the hill.

Leòwyn tracked their progress until they were but specks in the distance, a cloud of dust the only sign of their passage.

Straining even her elvin eyesight, Leòwyn finally turned and made her way back to her chambers. The Great Hall was eerily quiet, only a few huddled groups of men littering the room, as she passed through on her way to pack. It was drastically different from the scene but a few yards outside the doors, where men ran back and forth, readying horses for travel.

Eòwyn was already in her room, wearing a deep green gown, sturdy riding boots, and sporting two packs at her feet.

"I packed for you, Leòwyn. I hope you don't mind, but the first caravan leaves in half a candles mark for Dunharrow. Our horses are being saddled as we speak, for we are to ride with the King and his household."

Leòwyn shook her head, thanking the other woman. She hastily threw a few more personal possessions into the pack, including her breeches and tunic before allowing Eòwyn to whisk her out of her chambers and to the Hall to meet with the others.

"Eòwyn, how long does it take to reach Dunharrow?" she asked, her breath labored from holding back tears and the pace set by the White Lady.

"' 'Tis a two day gallop, we shall arrive before the bulk of the the éored's arrive."

The King had already swept out of the Hall, heading for the stables. He was followed by a group of at least fifty riders, ages ranging from a young squire to a grizzled, senior captain. The two women hurried to catch up, slipping into the end of the line next to Aragorn, Legolas, and the dwarf Gimli. They shared smiles and nods, Eòwyn purposefully ignoring the presence of the ranger.

Leòwyn grinned in humor and shrugged when Aragorn threw a questioning look her way. She could not say he did not deserve the cold shoulder, and none pulled off a cold brush off as well as the Ice Queen of Rohan. She followed her friend who powered through the crowd to find their mounts.

Felaròf and Windfola were waiting, lead reins on the ground, for the descendants of the _Mearas_ would never leave without a rider. With a quirk of her lips, Leòwyn reached into her pocket for the extra carrot she had snagged on her way out and fed the greedy warhorse. His thankful nudge almost sent her stumbling from her feet but she grabbed his mane with an indignant scoff.

"Pardon me, bonded horse. Do not believe you are not replaceable," she threatened only to earn a disbelieving huff from the _Mearas_.

Turning away from the insufferable horse, Leòwyn noted the interaction between the Ranger and the Shieldmaiden. It seemed that Aragorn had decided to at least make his sentiments known of Eòwyn's pursuit of glory by pointedly staring at the sword she had hidden under her blanket. The scowl on Eowyn's delicate face pointedly told him her opinions on the matter. Their whispered conversation was drowned out by the commotion around them, but Leòwyn grimaced, her sharp ears catching heated words.

When Eòwyn turned back to face the elf-maiden, Leòwyn pretended to still be scolding her horse. The White Lady laughed tightly at the pinched look on the brunette's face as she swung onto Windfola, not realizing that the look was not at all caused by the horse.

"I could not imagine a more suitable horse for you, Leòwyn."

Said woman scoffed, shooting an exasperate look at Felaròf before patting him on the neck and climbing into the saddle and leaning to whisper in the buckskin's ear.

"You are lucky I adore you, _mui mel."_

With a signal from the King, his entourage spurred their horses into a trot, until they passed the gates of Edoras. Once upon the open plains, the company allowed their horses their freedom to run and soon were galloping across the grassy, even ground.

Leòwyn allowed herself to reveal in the feeling of wind in her hair, and her bonded beneath her. Felaròf was enjoying himself, she could tell by the way he would throw his head into the air, mane streaming behind him. She let her thoughts wander to the whirlwind the last few hours had been. Not even leaving her meadow had been as stressful as the last few days.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

The ride to Dunharrow was perhaps the longest days of her life. The first day had not been a burden. Leòwyn had been in good spirits, enjoying the weak heat from the sun and the feeling of wind on her face as the horses raced over the plains. The metallic sent to the air only gave her pause for but a moment as she chatted with the riders around her.

She relished in the feeling of being under the open sky, with nature surrounding her once more, even it was lacking any amount of trees. Her mount clearly felt the same, prancing with the exuberance of a foal once more. She even let out a breathless laugh as Felaròf made to race the stallions in the company. Only Windfola responded, the two female riders playfully tossing insults back and forth until they were forced to abate their race as they approached the head of the column.

The serious gaze of the King chastised them for their levity in such a time but neither woman could find it in themselves to feel guilty. They had seen the smiles alighted on faces of the riders of the Mark at their antics. It made the disapproval of the King easier to bear.

Leòwyn's feelings of adventure and calm had drastically changed the first night as their travel came to an end and the camp was pitched. As the sun became more obscured by the dark clouds and the wind turned sour, she felt an oppressive weight settle in her mind. It strengthened the farther they journeyed east.

That night saw her first sentient terror – the only one she could recall in detail. Dark swirling masses, voices screaming hate, and a burning eye drove her from her bedroll many candles before anyone in the camp stirred.

She had seen all those she loved fall, one after the other, on the fields of some distance battle. A White City, carved from the side of a mountain floated in her mind's eye and the walls dripped blood. Leòwyn knew not if this was a figment of her imagination or a dire warning.

Fear coursed headily through her veins and Leòwyn knew she would find no sleep. She sat with echoes of a sinister voice in her ear by the bated fire for hours, staring into the black night where even the stars were subdued.

'_**I have chosen you, half-breed. Head my call or suffer a fate worse than death - all you love will burn and turn to ash.'**_

The morning of the second day was worse than any day she had experienced thus far since departing her meadow for the world of Men. Not the green of the plains, nor the slight of white capped mountain shook her from the deep brooding she had slipped into. The slim brunette was plagued by capitulating thoughts during the daylight hours and once the sun slipped below the horizon, she dreaded sleep for surely nightmares would haunted her dreams. The voice would return.

As the company of the King rode down a narrow dirt path, which had been stomped into packed mud by the hooves of uncountable steeds, the Prince's betrothed registered nothing. It was as if someone else controlled her movements, her mind lost within herself.

A steep cliff rose above them signaling their arrival at the ancient meeting place of the Rohirrim. Her eyes, open but clouded wandered over the banners of the Men that had settled at the base of the mountain. She search desperately for the King's standard that would signal the Prince had arrived. A small tendril of hope squeaked for his presence. When she failed to find it, Leòwyn sighed but the thought brought no further emotion other than exhaustion. She felt her hope and disappointment slip away as easily as her lungs took in air.

A numb, cool feeling had begun to creep along her neck and with another sigh Leòwyn descended into it. With the feeling of weightlessness also came a familiar pressure, sinister whisperings pulsing through her head, but she had little energy to find the connection for where she had felt it before. The one thought she did have was to hide part of her being. She quickly and thoroughly buried the bond, linking Theodred to her and her to him. She would not allow any harm to come to him, even if the harm was only in her mind.

Eòwyn, who had refused to leave the healer's side, was once again casting disturbed glances towards the woman at her side. She had watched as her friend descended into a pale version of herself, unable to stop the bags from developing under her eyes nor prevent the deep fear that encompassed Leòwyn's eyes.

As she watched, Leòwyn's face cleared as if some internal battle had been lost, taking on the look of a ghost. The emptiness of her expression deeply unsettling the fierce Shieldmaiden. Eòwyn couldn't help but wish for Théodred's return. He would know what to do.

Even Felaròf, an unusually calm mount when around Leòwyn, was fretful under the seat of his bonded, his feet prancing higher than normal from anxious energy. The other horses had begun to react to the energy of the large buckskin, becoming more and more restless as they approached the mountain.

The White Lady decided that perhaps speaking nonsense was the best distraction from her friend's mellow thoughts and so her voice grew hoarse as she spoke of anything she could think of, never ending her monologue throughout the two days of their journey. She continued her speech now, receiving no response from the other woman.

"Dunharrow is upon that clifftop, named Firienfeld," she pointed. A thrill of hope rose within her as she noticed Leòwyn's eyes follow her extended hand.

"This marks the end of the Valley of Harrowdale, and has been a refuge for our people since the establishment of Rohan during the Third Age. Before it belonged to the people of Rohan, it was considered hallowed ground by the Númenórean's and Drúedain. Upon the cliff, sits the entrance to the Paths of the Dead, the Dimholt."

Eòwyn shivered at the thought of the haunted roadway that served as a long lost road between the Realms of Gondor and Rohan. She turned her eyes back towards Leòwyn and found that the other woman was staring at the clifftop, some awareness entering her gaze and another emotion that Eòwyn could not place. It seared through the artic eyes of the part-elf and then disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving small wisps of something dreadful in its wake.

While she could not name it, the malevolent darkness in her friends gaze stole the breath from Eòwyn's lungs. The distress she felt for her usually jovial friend intensified as the snake of emotion in her eyes failed to abate, as if something malicious was influencing the healer. It wound through the ice blue, changing its color to a dark sapphire that drank in light instead of reflecting.

As Eòwyn watched, it retreated, circling Leòwyn's pupil and sinking into the blackness. The healer then met her eye, her face blank. Eòwyn questioned whether she had truly seen such evil in her friends face, as the signs had disappeared with such haste. Before she had the ability to question the brunette the other turned away and guided her mount after the King's. The Shieldmaiden was left to stare, worry churning in her gut.

The ground began to steepen, turning from a slight slope into an upward climb. The horses pushed onward, many showing their displeasure at the incline with acts of disobedience to their masters but were quickly subdued. The Stair of the Hold, a winding pathway that lead to the encampment of the King, was passed swiftly.

It was as if she was under a blanket, a veil had been placed over the world, and Leòwyn found that she had little strength left to fight through it. She allowed herself to float in a numb fog, conserving energy, which she felt was slowly being drained from her. Her body moved without her direction as Leòwyn watched, a spectator in her own narrative.

Her _fea_ flickered for the first time in her memory but even the spike of worry she felt faded rapidly until she was numb once more.

The company reached the series of large canvas tents and all halted their horses. Théoden King was the first on the ground, handing his reins off to the nearest squire with a distracted air. There was much to prepare for, as he awaited the arrival of the remaining Marshals, and so he strode to his war tent, paying no attention to those he left standing behind him. Men, in boiled leather armor followed.

The two women were among the others, forgotten, and so at Eòwyn's direction set off to find their tent. The two would share as space was limited upon the rocky outcropping. Leòwyn followed behind the White Lady, and felt as if she was moving through liquid so slow was her movement. No thought directed her feet, as her mind was far departed.

Artic blue was once more splashed with black.

"Leòwyn, what is the matter? You have been distant all day" Eòwyn's voice pitched backwards to carry. The black retreated.

Leòwyn felt her shoulders shrug, but was not the one who commanded it to. Once more she knew something other was in control of her will. Just as the Valar had done, but this entity was far from the warm touches of the Valar. Leòwyn questioned when she had become a vessel for the evil she could feel leaking from her _fea_.

A malicious whisper echoed from the recesses of her mind. Emotion, hot fear, flooded back into her mind. She screamed but no sound escaped her clamped lips.

'_**You are mine to control, Child of Prophecy. Pain is your birthright. Through you, I shall bring the fall of the Kingdom of Men.'**_

Leòwyn raged against the being that had firm control over her inner light, but it was as if she were striking a ghost. The wraith snuck around her mind, sending shivers of icy pain shooting through her conscious. Her weak _fea_ fought valiantly but it served little purpose other than to be swatted like a light bug. The sting felt as if she had been slapped across the face, by a gauntlet covered hand. Leòwyn almost imagined she was tasting her own blood.

'_Who are you?'_ she cried out, pain making her voice sharp.

A sinister rasp echoed in her head_**. '**__**Úlairi**__**, pitiful child. I am your death.'**_

Her mind tumbled for the meaning of the Quenyan word. There was a familiarity to it that struck a chord within the maiden. A memory, of her mother, reciting a story of times long past to her as a child. A story that centered on the tales of Lord Elrond of Rivendell and the narrow victory that was the army of Lothlórien and Rivendell elves against the Witch-King of Angmar. A wraith-like, fire wrapped figure seared her inner eye.

Leòwyn gasped, fighting to breathe.

'_You are of the Nine. Cursed Men – Ringwraith.' _She spat the word as if it burned her tongue. The beings control over her weakened at its name and a dam broke. All of her suppressed emotions raged forth, attacking the being she could just sense on the outskirts of her mind. Her anger, in particular, was swift as a snake and struck wildly at the darkness.

'_I shall never help you,_' Leòwyn_ snarled._

With a hiss the sentient entity retreated, a warning reverberating in the silence, _**'Then you will fall.'**_

Leòwyn was left with a bone deep weariness that sunk her back into the curious disassociation of her waking mind. So deep had her mind such that her whole body jerked as a hand came to clamp onto her shoulder.

The possessed woman shot her eyes up to meet the worried gaze of the White Lady. Eòwyn spoke, "What has gotten into you, Leòwyn? Have you not heard a word I've spoken?"

Leòwyn's mind struggled to form words, tongue thick in her mouth "Sorry, Eòwyn. I feel stretched thin."

The other woman frowned before nodding, "As all do in these times. I shall fetch you a pale of water to wash and then I insist you take rest."

Eòwyn turned to retreat back through the opening of the small tent. She did not register the look of terror that crossed the brunette's face at the prospect of sleep. For how was she to know the horror that raged in Leòwyn's head? And if she had a glimpse, would she believe that the brunette had lost her mind? Leòwyn almost believed that herself. She had no proof of the being she was certain was real and breathing inside her head.

That knowledge that no one could help her turned Leòwyn's melancholy and bitter thoughts in a spiral of self-doubt. Surely someone would have noticed the exhaustion that dogged her steps, the panic that she experienced upon waking after succumbing to her bodies demands for rest if times were not so dire. Leòwyn eyed the bundle that consisted of her travel worn clothes, precious possessions, and blanket upon which to sleep. Cots had been laid side by side in the cramped space, so with a sigh Leòwyn chose the one closest to the door for she knew she would not be using it.

Leòwyn placed her belongings at the foot of the cot and sat precariously on the edge. Her mind felt more aware than it had in a while, the sinister footnote for the moment gone. Her shoulders sunk forward, feeling the pressure to sleep but fought it off. She would not give in, for she could imaging being trapped in her own mind, fighting against the control of another. Her fear was enough to stave off exhaustion, for now.

Eòwyn returned with a large pale of water with which the two women cleaned off the dirt from the road. When both were as clean as they were going to be, the water was a murky brown from the land that had been scrubbed off their skin. Leòwyn changed into another of her road dresses, a mild grey made of thin wool and she felt her eyes droop again. She barely registered Eòwyn pushing her onto her cot to lay, slightly uncomfortably, on her side. A rolled blanket was slipped beneath her chocolate locks, another pulled to cover her chilled body.

"Sleep for a time, my friend," the White Lady whispered as Leòwyn's eyelids slipped closed over bruised eyes.

Little did she know that Leòwyn had no intention of sleeping. The part-elf waited, on the verge of falling into an unnatural sleep, until she had heard Eòwyn relax onto her own cot and her breathing even out. With a grunt the women shook off her exhaustion with difficulty and levered herself into a sitting position. Each movement brought her pain from the aches in her depleted body.

Leòwyn could see the sun was beginning to set, darkness pushing to rush over the world as the sun waned. The noise from the encampment met her ears and suddenly she wished nothing more than to be in a blissfully dreamless sleep. The world had become a lot more intimidating in the last few days and so instead of leaving the canvas tent, she sunk onto the floor beside her cot and sat with her back to the wood.

Her legs curled underneath her to soften the hard ground, and she sat motionless as the light escaped the world. Her body seemed to pulse with a deep ache, starting from her center and radiating outward. Her arms came to cradle her stomach as she curled slightly forward.

'_What is happening to me?'_

Her thoughts wandered, never settling on one topic, and then quieted as her weary mind strove to preserve energy. Breathing seemed to be getting harder, pain radiating down her arms and legs. So Leòwyn focused on taking deep breaths through the pain. She hardly noticed when her eyes slipped closed, of their own will and a part of her roared a warning but it was too late.

Before Leòwyn could stop herself she fell into the abyss that had slowly crept to the forefront of her mind. Her body followed her mind, sliding sideways until she was prone on the floor, arms still clutching herself tightly.

Eòwyn awoke not long after, rested from the journey and stomach growling. The White Lady noticed immediately the absence of the other woman in her bed and for a moment assumed she had gotten up before her. She stood and stretch out her back, which had become cramped during their travels.

A soft groan escaped her as her shoulder popped wonderfully. With a sigh, Eòwyn stood and moved towards the tent flap, intent on finding food before the hem of a soft grey dress caught her attention. Eòwyn scrambled to the still form of her friend, lying on the hard ground of the tent. On her knees, she dared to touch the other woman's shoulder and noticed the unnatural chill of her skin. Panic filled her chest as her hand recoiled on instinct.

The White Lady could see the slight rise and fall of Leòwyn's chest but the rest of her unmoving form looked as if the rigors of death were claiming her. She had to hold in a scream. Her mind trembled as she sought a reason for the calamity that now claimed her friend – nay, sister.

Suddenly, she heard a voice, familiar in its deep baritone that sent the Shieldmaiden bolting from the tent on one edge of the cliff of Dunharrow and towards the sound of horses arriving. Her heavy breathing sounded especially loud in her ears as she strove not to panic. Her feet were fleet and sure, bringing her to a halt before a gathering of tall, straw haired warriors.

Her eyes quickly sought the familiar form and, panting, pushed her way through a few burly bodies. Her strength sent a few stumbling but she wasted no time with apologies. Eòwyn finally reached the one she was after, and planted herself in front of the Prince of Rohan.

He was covered head to toe in traveler's dirt, smudges on both his cheeks, and looked as tired as she had felt upon arrival. His éored must have pushed hard to arrive in such time.

The exhaustion in the Prince's face fled at the sight of Eòwyn and the tears in her eyes. In the many years he had spent raising his younger cousins, he had only seen the fierce, golden haired girl cry once, as a child who had just lost her last living parent. Fear spiked through his heart when he did not see the dark brown curls he loved so much behind her.

Leòwyn's body twitched, her nerves alighting before once more falling still.

* * *

She could see nothing. The inky black was complete, surrounding her on all sides, leaving no sliver of light visible. Maybe there was no light to be seen, or maybe the darkness was just that strong.

She could feel nothing, as if she had no form. She sent a quick thought, as if to move her hand, but found no hand to move. Her panic quickened.

Leòwyn reached out her senses, trying to find the ends of the realm she had found herself in but there were no walls, no borders. There was nothing. Until there was something.

It rose from the darkness, a flaming silhouette, outlined in the pitch. As part of the darkness, it grew larger, feeding on the fear Leòwyn radiated. Malicious waves of fiery red energy rolled over her and with each new wave, she burned.

The energy was the same as had spoken to her in days past. It throbbed over her _fea_ now, scrapping, clawing, devouring. Leòwyn screamed, pain of a translucent kind, shredded her corporeal form.

'_**You were warned, Child of Prophecy. You could have become a being of immense power. Now, you will suffer.'**_

The part-elf whimpered, bringing her energy closer to the center of her being and thought one word. _'Why?'_

The question, and the strength it took to ask it seemed to give the being pause. Perhaps the genuine confusion in her voice had caught the figure off guard. Silence encompassed them and the pain receded to a bearable level. Leòwyn took the moment to grasp the last remaining wells of will she had.

The rumbling voice, made up of thousands of squealing apparitions, responded. _**'You were foretold. To be destined for great tragedy. To be the one who brought about the end of the Second line of Kings in the Realm of Men. I am foretold to be your ending calamity. Through you, I will destroy them.'**_

The rasping voice of one long dead retreated and the pain, excruciating, returned. Leòwyn could hold her scream no longer. She was sundered.

* * *

"Théodred, Leòwyn is in trouble. You must come to her! She had been withdrawn, acting strange on the journey and fell off her cot in her sleep," Eòwyn said hurriedly, her panic clearly worrying the Prince.

There were no need for more words. He motioned for her to take the lead, and Eòwyn set off at a pace more reminiscent of a run than a walk. Théodred's heavy steps seemed to echo in her ears as she brought him to the tent the two woman shared. They both entered quickly and stopped abruptly as a sliver of light from a lantern beyond the tent illuminated a body shroud in shadows.

The darkness seemed to pulse around the form of his beloved, her pale form shrinking in on itself. With a curse, he whispered, "Bema Above, what is this?"

The lifeless body shook Théodred to the core as he eyed her, even her breathing was so shallow that she could indeed pass for a corpse. A pallor of white dusted her complexion giving accentuation to the dark circles around her eyes, and slightly sunk in cheeks. He fell to his knees at her side, braving the shadows that seemed to writhe around her, as if alive. Eòwyn retreated out of the tent in search of a light, swiftly bringing back a hand lantern.

As the light hit the shadows, they dispersed, dissolving like smoke in a breeze. The cousins shot each other a look filled with trepidation before Théodred moved to scoop Leòwyn's body into his arms. Her skin was freezing and instead of warming on contact with his, it transferred the icy tendrils to him. A deep shiver arced through his body. Something malevolent was at work here and anger dosed with fear for the woman in his arms festered in his chest.

"Eòwyn, go get father. He shall know what to do. Also, bring the Lord Aragorn and his elf friend. There is magic at work here," he spoke, his voice steely. The woman was gone before he could say another word.

He moved Leòwyn's body back to the cot nearest the door, covering her with blankets from both beds. Théodred then turned, intending to move the light closer to see her more clearly. He missed the movement of her body, as it rose from the bed and came towards his back.

An elegant form, in long robes of dark blue, snapped his head towards the entrance of the King's tent. His hair, fair and dark, floated in the air before flowing down once more to land behind pointed ears. His companion, a man of similar coloring, followed his gaze. Both sensed the stirrings of evil within the camp of the King of Rohan.

"Théodred …" a strained voice hissed out, a pained moan following.

The Prince spun. The sight that greeted his eyes would haunt his nights for years. Eyes, as black as pitch, stared at him from his beloved's face, encompassing all the white. The veins around her eyes had become engorged and bulged with dark corruption. One hand had come to grip the side of her head, pulling at the greasy locks of hair seemingly black.

Holding eye contact with the monster that had become Leòwyn, he couldn't find any words to say. As he opened his mouth to utter her name, he just caught the flicker of ice blue in the swirling dark. She was in there, fighting and that was enough for Théodred to reach for her. His hand brushed hers as more blue broke the ebony.

As quick as a flicker, her body was racing past him, out of the tent. Théodred followed without thought, his feet tracing her path. She was fast, as he had always known, but fear drove him and lent speed to his legs.

He caught a glimpse of a grey dress as she dodged in between two tents, headed for the side of the cliff. With a sprint, he pushed his body to catch up, noticing with alarm that she did not appear to be slowing as the edge of Dunharrow came into view. A few more steps and she would find no ground to place her small feet. Like a hammer, the very thought of her jumping willingly hit him. Théodred screamed her name as he realized her intent.

Leòwyn did not slow, even for a second. Her feet carried her to the edge and she jumped.

The night was pierced by a wild, high pitched shriek as Leòwyn flung her body forward, suspended for a moment over the abyss below. The echo off the mountain behind her relayed a triumphant bellow, one of satisfaction and great sorrow.

Leòwyn closed her eyes, face morphing into a peaceful façade. Théodred's face swam into her view, his horror clenching her heart in a fist. She had felt, could still feel, the evil that invaded her mind, body, and soul. It had commanded her to take the life of the person she loved the most. It had commanded her hand to move, to grasp the knife at his belt, and to bury his weapon in broad chest.

As a prisoner in her own body, she had watch with horror as her hand had rose to do as bid. She had barely choked out his name as pain had exploded in her head once more. For she had displeased the Witch King by giving him warning. She had felt her own will rise once more, for the final time, as it fought the influence of the wraith.

She had made one last decision, her _fea_ lashing out with the last of her strength and commanded her own body to run and jump. The freedom, of floating in the air, drowned out the panicked scream she heard behind her. Théodred was now safe. Safe from her treacherous hands. Safe from her weakness. Tears fell from beneath her closed eyes. She bid her goodbyes to the ones her heart had formed bonds with. The valiant Eòmer, the fiercely loyal Eòwyn, the grim King, and her beloved.

As suddenly as it had come, her peace ended. As quickly as she had jumped, she felt her body lurch backwards. With a scream, more wraith than woman, she slammed into a solid body and her last thought was dread before she once more fell and the Nazgúl rose.

Théodred had leaped after her, managing to wrap a forearm around her stomach and grasp one of the staked torches with the other. The stake, while planted many feet into the packed dirt was not strong enough to hold their weight. Taking the weight of body man and woman, it broke but slowed their fall enough that he was able to grab the ledge.

They swung to impact the cliff edge with a crunch, and Théodred shouted when he saw Leòwyn's forehead make contact with a large protruding rock. Blood now rushed down her face and her weight hung in his grip.

The two bodies now hung, suspended over the cliff and for a moment Théodred feared his grip would slip and send them plunging to their deaths, hundreds of feet below but a large hand grasped his, followed by another further down his arm. Eòmer's scowling face appeared over the edge as his arms prevented the fall of his cousin and the woman he had seen throw herself off a ledge.

"Grasp my arm, my son," Théoden's head also appeared.

Trusting Eòmer to have a solid grip on him, Théodred released his handhold on the sharp rock and transferred his bleeding palm into his father's hand. Together, the two heaved and as they pulled the Prince and his burden up, more men swarmed forward to take hold of other parts of their bodies. Leòwyn was stolen from his weak hold, and he had no time to protest as he was hauled over the edge of the cliff and placed on solid ground.

Théodred took a moment to calm his racing heart and ragged breathing, eyes closed, before he snapped them open looking for her. Leòwyn's body had been placed many yards from him and he frowned. She was clearly unconscious, blood still sluggishly trailing down her neck but none of the men had come to treat her. They all stood, in a grim circle around her, many unmoving, others shuffling. Eòmer's back, broader than the men around him by half, was among them.

The Prince grunted as he levered himself into a sitting position, coming face to face with the King who had crouched low.

"Are you injured?" his voice when he spoke was calm, but the Prince could see the raging temper in his eyes. His face was set in a small scowl.

Théodred shook his head, "No father, perhaps sore. Why is no one seeing to Leòwyn? She hit her head against the rock."

Théoden rose, his hand outstretched for the other man to take. Théodred was hauled to his feel by the deceptive power of the King, whose scowl became more pronounced at the mention of the elf maiden. The Prince felt exhaustion tickle the edge of his mind.

"A rider reported that he had seen her reaching for your dagger, before throwing herself off a cliff. I will not have any man approach her until she has been deemed not a threat."

Théodred's exhaustion fled in the face of his rage. He could feel the blood begin to rush to his head but kept a tight leash on the words spoken. "She is my betrothed, father. She is no ordinary woman, and certainly not a threat to anyone here."

"I will determine that. You are to stay far from her until then." The clipped tones of the King did not hid his anger. It was a weak wind compared to the thunder that rode on the brow of his son but the Prince dared not argue. At least not while so many eyes were upon them.

Théoden shot one last stern look at his blood before walking towards the woman lying prone under the night sky. As he approached, the men parted and allowed him to see the reason they were all many feet from her. Dark veins stood in stark contrast to the white of her skin as they radiated out from around her closed eyes. More had formed, to crawl down her neck, and disappear under her gray clothing. Fear spiked through all who laid eyes upon her, for she seemed deformed.

"Bind her." He commanded. Whisperings broke out in the crowd of men, for none would wish to see a woman bound. Much less their future Queen.

There was a shout, "No!" and a figure emerged from the shadows outside the circle of men. A woman, dressed in green, moved from the crowd and knelt by the woman's side.

A voice thundered at her, the voice of the King, "Eòwyn, step away from this creature."

The White Lady snapped her head up, her hand pressing hard against the bloody wound. Her hand was soon slick with blood and all were reassured that the blood was indeed red. It had looked black against the pallor of the injured woman's skin. Eòwyn's eyebrows drew together as swiftly as storms across the plains and her eyes lit as if lightning resided in them.

"I shall not. If none of these men will treat her as if she is a mere woman and not a monster then I will. Can you not see she is sick? I watched her succumb to this and did nothing for my worry. I am to blame as much as anyone. For I call her friend."

The King glared mightily and opened his mouth but was interrupted by a calm, strange voice.

"She is indeed sick. A black shadow has descended on her spirit."

All eyes turned towards the figure in dark blue. He had thrown his hood back and many gasped at the presence of another elf. The soldiers had seen the companion of the Lord Aragorn throughout camp but never had they seen one whose bearing radiated such power many were forced to look away. Standing to his side was Aragorn and Eòwyn shot him a look, pleading for his support. Her eyes seemed to say if he respected her at all, he would help.

Aragorn nodded slightly, then stepped forward "Théoden King, allow me to attempt to heal her. I cannot say whether this shadow can be expelled but I would try."

The elf behind him nodded, "It shall be no easy task, but you have my help Elessar."

The man with more grey in his hair than gold leveled a stare at the Ranger and Elf in turn. Théodred had come to stand at the back of his friend and his eyes bore into his father's, making the choice for Théoden. For he could not his only son and heir turn against him. With a frown and a nod, the King waved the crowd off and stalked back to his tent. A hand beckoned his son to follow.

Théodred hesitated, wishing nothing more than to join his cousin in the dirt, next to Leòwyn's body but he could not refuse his King. His pause was noted by the Ranger and the Elf Lord next to him. Aragorn placed a steady hand on the Prince's shoulder.

"We shall take care of her, my friend. I am asking for your trust."

The Prince nodded, laying his hand on the other man's shoulder as his answer. He then turned, his feel laden as his heart. He shot one more glance backwards at the form now surrounded by a strange party. The other men had dispersed, many returning to their beds to dream of a haunted figure in grey. The King's nephew met him on the way, bumping shoulders in support. The two stalked to the Royal tent and disappeared inside.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Eòwyn grimaced, feeling the blood on her hands begin to harden, as she followed Aragorn and the strange Elf Lord that had agreed to help her friend. She had to mentally shake herself to prevent being sick at the thought of whose blood curled under her nails, and stained her traveling dress. The one who was slumped, boneless in the dark haired man's arms, black veins crawling down the arm she could see. Leòwyn's face had shocked her to the core, her mind wishing to be as far from such evil as possible, but she would not allow her fears to cause the death of her friend. She would help in any way that was needed.

The tall, slim being that walked as if on water led them away from the small cramped tent the woman had shared. His feet, shrouded by his long fine linen, moved so quickly with seemingly no effort that Eòwyn had to jog to keep up. Instead, in a flutter of robes, he brushed into a tent that was much grander, the floor covered with fine pelts, one cot placed in the corner. Eòwyn noted the bundle of belongings that were Lord Aragorn's in the corner.

"Place her on the bed. We shall need fresh water, boiled, the plant athelas if there is some to be found, you may know it as kingsfoil, and many clean cloths. Estel, assess her state. Does her _fea _remain intact? Does she still fight?"

All jumped to do his bidding, Aragorn placing Leòwyn's prone body on the cot. He took a moment to brush her dark hair out of her face, noticing the sweat on her skin from unnatural fever. Her face looked ghastly, covered in her own blood, and with evil spreading outward from her eyes. His chest felt tight as he remembered the melancholy she had tried so valiantly to hide but that he had seen in Edoras. If only he had tried harder to understand her fears. Perhaps she would be healthy, and not so close to deaths door.

Eòwyn had disappeared to summon men to bring what the Lord requested before returning to the side of her chosen sister. Many were hesitant to help the one they called 'haunted' already but they were even more hesitant to invoke the ire of the White Lady or the Prince. Her fears were plain on her face, and as she grasped at the limp hand of her closest friend, tears threatened. Her eyes tracked the hand of the Ranger as it rested on the brow of the part-elf.

Aragorn closed his eyes, searching with his own spirit for the light that reminded him of a peaceful forest. He had felt Leòwyn's _fea_ many times since meeting her. She had a very unique spirit, part human and part elf that in turn felt like neither race. He gritted his teeth when he was bombarded with the corporeal screaming of the trees. Her mind and spirit were certainly still under attack, from an evil he could not name but its darkness made his spirit shrink backwards.

As a forest has little protection from a fire, Leòwyn's mind had little defense against such malevolence. Pain spiked through his head, creating an ache in his temples before he pulled his _fea_ back.

"She is in immense spiritual pain but she is fighting, I can feel her mind still."

Elrond nodded, busy preparing a tonic with the weed that had been found growing at the base of the Dimholt. Large pals of boiling water released a sweet, cooling steam that filled the tent. Eòwyn could feel her muscles relax noticeably, but her emotions would not allow her to rest until Leòwyn was well. The Elf moved forward, towards his patient, quickly shooing the golden haired beauty away.

"Move aside. Estel, take her place. Bind her arms and legs to the bed. We are to do this together for I have an idea of the strength of this shadow, it will take us both."

Both men placed their hands on the head and chest of the brunette and together began to chant. Eòwyn stood back, watching as the quiet whispers of the two men grew louder and urgent. Then the screaming started.

With a jump, Eòwyn's eyes glued themselves onto the face of her friend which was screwed into a tight grimace. Her mouth was open in terrible pain and the sound that tore from her throat was unlike any the woman of Rohan had heard before. Eòwyn's tears finally flowed down her cheeks as she witnessed the immense pain that arched through the other woman's body, as it flopped on the bed. The two men had her gently restrained but the cloth had begun to cut into her skin, so great was her strength.

The White Lady turned and ran. She could not watch any longer, so she sprinted, as fast as her feet would carry her.

* * *

Théodred was glad for the reassuring presence of Eòmer at his shoulder as they both stared at the figure in front of them. He felt as if his head were to explode as he fought his fury. A part of him was missing, and he knew exactly where it lay, across camp. His soul cried out for her.

Honey colored eyes glared, and he realized he had never been so angry at his father in his life. Growing up, his father had been his hero, a legendary King who was beloved by all, and whom he had tried to emulate. But then his father had fallen into shadow and left Théodred to do his duty alone. Until he had found Leòwyn.

The King of Rohan was pacing, hands clasped behind his back, and head tucked to his chest. The Prince could feel his anger, raging a moment before, calm at the look of disgruntled worry on his father's face. Shooting a look at Eòmer, he stepped forward.

His movement caught the notice of the King, who stopped and turned to frown heavily at his heir.

"How could you do something so reckless? Leaping off a cliff, risking your life and the future of this Realm for a woman?"

Théodred took a deep breath as rage rose to the surface of his skin once more. With gritted teeth he responded, "Her name is Leòwyn. She is my betrothed, father. And she threw herself off of a cliff to protect me. For I know that is the only reason she would do such a thing."

Théoden looked unconvinced. "One of your riders, from your éored, reported seeing her hand reaching for your dagger as your back was turned. How do you explain that?"

Théodred sighed, "I do not know for certain, but we all heard the Elf Lord, she is sick. We all witnessed the markings of evil upon her which were not there last I saw her."

"She could have been hiding her real self, biding her time to play her hand. To end my line."

Eòmer, making his thoughts known for the first time, scoffed loudly. He leveled a disconcerting stare at his bickering family, meeting the heated gaze of the King. While Théodred was prone to bouts of emotion in daily life, Eòmer was the opposite. His disposition, prone to swift anger but just as swift forgiveness, and more oft than not an even head, was highly respected by all who knew him.

"Forgive me, uncle. But you do not know this woman as we do. There is not a malicious bone in her body, nor a streak of meanness in her soul. Leòwyn did not do this willingly."

Théodred shot him a grateful look and Eòmer nodded. The King slipped into a brooding silence just as Eòwyn pushed aside the tent, and all witnessed her anguish. For a moment, Théodred's heart stopped but he felt the weak bond in his mind and knew she still lived. He had been able to sense her since her confession in the gardens of Queen Morwen, and checked it frequently. How could he have not felt this?

The three men waited for her to speak, but her mouth only opened twice before she covered it with her hand. A sob racked through her body and Eòmer moved to bring her into his embrace.

"What is it, dear daughter?" Worry laced his question.

Eòwyn raised her head from the chest of her brother, her eyes rimmed with water. "The Lord Elf spoke of a powerful shadow that has possessed Leòwyn. I feel she is lost to us and cannot but blame myself."

Both Eòmer and Théodred were quick to whisper reassuring words, not allowing her to take the blame which sat heavy on her brow. None of them, as much as they cared for the part-elf, had foreseen this. Guilt stewed in Théodred's stomach. He did not protect her.

The silence in the tent was measured, only broken when a tormented wail, louder than the last heard only by Eòwyn, filled the air. It was filled with a dizzying amount of pain that Théodred could feel in his own chest. The breath of all those that heard it froze in their chests. All hair stood up on end as the sound drifted off, to be replaced by another shrieking cry.

"Is that Leòwyn?" Eòmer asked, his eyes wide with horror. He had never heard such pain, even in the voices of the countless dying on a field of battle. His stomach knotted in sympathy.

Eòwyn's sobs increased with a nod. She buried her head back into his chest.

Théodred shook himself, panic in his countenance, and made for the door, only to be stopped by the vice grip Théoden placed on his forearm. The King looked troubled.

"I am not convinced fully. I will not have you going near her until the Lord Elrond and Aragorn have done what they can."

Théodred snarled, his fury uncaged. The King appeared to almost take a step back at the fierceness of his son's expression. "I will not be parted from her for your fear. Should you order it you will lose me, Father. You have fallen into shadow once. Yet, you place the blame solely on her shoulders for what you failed to prevent many months ago. You of all people should know her plight."

The Prince shook off his father's hand aggressively and strode from the tent, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind. All knew the truth of his words yet none had dared speak them aloud. The King had once fallen to a shadow similar to the one that now had hold of his future daughter. Théoden hung his head in shame.

Eòmer spoke, still holding his sister to him, looked to the King once more, an eyebrow raised. "I will stay with him, my Lord. Surely I am ample protection."

A distracted nod was the only response the two siblings got before Eòmer shuffled his sister out of the Royal tent. She had regained some composure and broke away from her brother's arms. The anger of her cousin had reminded her of the hope she had felt when the King had been returned to them. Leòwyn would surely be given the same chance.

Her slightly shaking hands wiped the tears from her eyes as another scream echoed off the rocky mountain. Taking a deep breath she followed in the steps of the departed Prince.

"Come brother, one of our own is in need."

* * *

She was once again trapped in darkness. All around she sensed only one being whose energy clashed against her _fea, _overwhelming her unprepared spirit. Leòwyn fought, feebly, to save the last of herself from the abyss.

Leòwyn's corporeal form panted heavily, lungs burning from the inside out. A distance part of her mind knew she had no lungs, not while trapped in her mind, but that did not stop the shooting pain. It spread outward from her chest, waves of deep red energy curling around her form, moving to strike.

'_**Give in, your mind is my vessel. I will not relinquish what is mine by blood.'**_

Leòwyn heard a scream, vaguely recognizably, but it sounded far off. She puffed a reply to the voice she had become familiar with.

'_I am not yours.'_

Cool anger seeped from the being_**. 'You have been mine since birth, pathetic child.'**_

'_You are lying. My mother would have never allowed such a thing.'_

'_**Your mother had no power to stop it, for she was the one who lay with a lost descendent of one of the three Númenorian Kings.'**_

Leòwyn fought against the pain, and her groggy mind to understand its meaning. Her father had been a man of no name. Lilithien had always assured her daughter of that fact. She had loved him for his simplicity and his plain destiny. Anardil has been his name. Anardil had been the man her mother had loved enough to leave her family's home for the world of Men. The voice spoke once more, its hissing tongue driving barbs of agony into her skull.

'_**Yesss, spawn of Man. Anardil, Scion of the Land of Anadúné, was of the blood of the Dúnedain. He was of my blood.'**_

Leòwyn's core rattled with fear, failing to stay calm at the thought of her foretold tragedy. Her mother had predicted true, tragedy was her fate. She was a descendant of the Black Captain of Sauron. _'Then, I am your blood.'_

A deep, malicious chuckle that sounded more of rocks screeching together. _**'So you finally see. You are mine to control. You cannot escape what binds your very being together.'**_

She saw the wraith gather energy in one of its hands, a bright ball of raging flame and could only shield her core as best as she could as it was flung at her with immense speed. A dagger of fire stabbed deeply into her spirit and another scream broke the heavy pressure that encompassed her mind. For the first time, Leòwyn felt a pain in her throat, knowing that agony-filled wail was hers. She continued to scream, the pain becoming unbearable and she felt her will falter. Her stubbornness had allowed to continue fighting but even that began to fail at this new, raw torment.

Invisible tears that only she felt tracked down her face as she grasped for the bond she had hidden from the Witch King's sight. The last of her strength went to protecting that bond, for she would burn for eternity before allowing such blackness to reach Théodred.

Her eyes, kept closed against the pitch, registered a growing light behind her eyelids. It became stronger by the moment, causing the maiden to open her corporeal eyes. In the light, the pain receded. A shriek escaped the wreathing figure of flame as the light bore holes through its dark form. The pain vanished. The Witch King fought the light, but even she could see that it would lose as the light continued to grow brighter, breaking up the inky blackness and flooding Leòwyn with two distinct energies.

She felt a sharp twinge in her eyes but could not look away from the blinding white. It was now all encompassing, and the dark figure fled – leaving her _fea_ in tatters but finally unburdened. Her eyes seared and with a cry of long suffering, Leòwyn's mind faded.

* * *

Leòwyn's body seized, shaking from the expulsion of an evil power, as her scream filled the tent. Her back arched so far her spine descried deformity. Théodred and the siblings had been watching as the Elf Lord and Heir of Elendil fought for the life of one they loved throughout the night and into the morning. Her pained whimpers and agonized screams ripped into their chest and tears flowed down all their faces but they were captivated by her torture, unable to look away.

They also knew that the encampment of the King had seen little sleep that night, for a crowd had gathered outside the tent they resided in. Leòwyn's screams had rattled even the most hardened warrior and brought feelings of pity from all. Théodred's heart was warmed only a little at the thought of the loyalty Leòwyn had already inspired in many of his people.

Her body quite suddenly slumped against the bed, the raw marks on her arms and legs showing meanly against her pale skin. Ragged breathes were drawn between chapped lips but her face evened out and seemed almost peaceful. The thick black veins around her eyes and down her neck began to retreat, towards her head. Dark, foul blood leaked from her eyes and ears, causing fear to flood the three of the race of Men that stood anxiously in the back but neither healer looked overly concerned.

Once assured that they had accomplished their goal, both healers slumped backward, even the graceful Elf slipping to rest on the floor, arms shaking and head bent. Aragorn fell completely onto his back, and looked as if asleep, his breathing the only indication that he was not. None dared to speak, and the five beings sat in silence until one spoke up.

"It is done. We have driven the being from her spirit, but I fear she has taken much damage. It was no normal shadow that possessed this woman – It could only have been the Nazgúl, and I fear it was the Lord of Minas Morgul himself. I have only felt such evil from their ilk. She may never recover from such trauma."

Elrond stood slowly as he spoke. When his feet stumbled, Eòmer was there to catch him, receiving a small nod in thanks. Théodred heard gasps from the others in the tent but his eyes did not stray from the renowned Healer. To think a being of such legend, and such evil, had targeted Leòwyn worried him deeply.

Théodred hiccupped. "What do you mean by such talk? Surely she is healed."

The Elf turned ancient eyes on the Prince. A small smile lit his face when the stubborn man refused to lower his gaze, even as unsettled as he felt.

"Pain, when one is exposed to it for so long, can cause wounds that not even a healer such as myself can repair. It will be upon her shoulders whether she recovers now."

Eòwyn spoke from behind him, her steps leading her to the downed form of Aragorn. "Why would a Nazgúl possess Leòwyn?"

Aragorn opened his eyes, being the only one with the knowledge that connected such an evil entity to such a pure woman, "She is the daughter of Lilithien and a mortal."

A sharp intake of breath from the Elf brought the attention back to his lithe form. His dark eyes were searching the face of the woman he had just help save. Whatever he saw caused his shoulders to sag even further.

"She is my niece then. Truly, I had suspected as much for her spirit reminds me of one I miss dearly. Lilithien made a grave mistake, making a choice that would haunt the life of her only born child, and one that would lead to her death. She fell for a man whose line is bathed in blood, and whose blood in turn beckons to evil. If this child did not have the blood of the Eldar in her veins, she would have succumbed much quicker."

Eòmer spoke up this time, his arms still supporting the weak Elf. "So her father was a bad man?"

The eerily perspective eyes of the immortal stared harder at the prone form of the woman. "No. He was a regular man, kind and just, but for a dark birthright. He was a descendent of Númenor. Of the line of Kings. That is the reason I could not support my siblings choice to love one such as he."

Aragorn sighed, levering himself into a sitting position with the help of Eòwyn's hands on his back. He saw the confused faces of the three cousins. "The Witch King of Angmar, Chief of the Nine, was once a King among ancient men, gifted one of the Nine Rings of Power by Sauron the Deceiver. The rings were infused with power, evil and all consuming. It slowly corrupted his soul, warping it into the visage of a Ringwraith."

Théodred nodded, "So Leòwyn is of the line of ancient Royalty, one who is forevermore the Witch King? She is of his blood."

"I believe her destiny has always been intertwined with yours, Prince of Rohan. Through her, the Witch King would have ended your line and the Kingdom of Rohan would have fallen. She was the piece none foretold but the Valar."

Lord Elrond did not so much as sigh, for his bearing would not allow it. He took a few steps to place his slim fingers on the forehead of his newfound niece. In her face, he saw the features of his beloved sister and the ache in his chest was relieved for a time. A piece of Lilithien still lived.

His face went slack, eyes closing, as he whispered a few more words of her head. Light, from within, slowly crept down his arm and sunk into her skin. He then turned and motioned for Eòmer to once more support his wobbling legs.

"I have done what I can for her. I must rest. I will return to check on her before I depart. Many things are in motion that must not be delayed. Not even for this poor child."

With the help of Eòmer, the Elf limped out of the tent, quickly disappearing into the waiting crowd. Eòwyn, who had stepped to the side of the exhausted ranger was whispering in low tones. The woman shot a look at Théodred, who was frozen at the other end of the tent and motioned towards the body on the cot.

"Cousin, will you watch her while I help Lord Aragorn to our tent? He must rest as well. I will return to help clean her up."

At her voice, Théodred started, nodding and quickly moving to take Leòwyn's small hand in his. It was cold but warming slowly. He was reminded of the last time her skin had touched his, shooting icy tendrils through him.

"Please tell the men of her status, and inform the King," he whispered as the Shieldmaiden half dragged Aragorn's body to the opening. She hesitated at the spite in his voice at the mention of Théoden but nodded.

The Prince could hear her light voice talking to the gathering outside, and then rumblings as men dispersed, some cheering lowly. Daylight broke the horizon causing many to go in search of food. He focused his attention on the woman he loved, and slowly, as not to cause any more damage, unbound her arms and legs from the cot. Deep bruising with red, aggravated skin was left outlined by unblemished skin. He took a deep breath at the rush of anger and utter helplessness at her pain.

Looking back to her face, he noticed that the blood had stopped seeping from her closed eyes and slowed to a trickle from her ears. The substance, clearly corrupted, stank and with gusto Théodred set about getting it off her before it congealed. Using clothes soaked in the brew that had been replaced with a fresh batch and infused the air with a healing scent, one he recognized from Leòwyn's home, he diligently mopped up the foul liquid.

He lost track of time as he used gentle strokes to clean her face, neck, and bodice. It seemed strangely intimate to clean her body without her knowledge, more intimate than even their passionate kissing, but Théodred was certain she would not begrudge him it. It calmed his own frayed nerves at feeling her warmth and heartbeat, to reassure himself she still lived.

He would have to wait for Eòwyn's return to get her into a new pair of clothes and to change the bedding but he could clean the rest of her sweaty skin that was exposed. Her fever seemed to have broken along with the possession and so he moved on to the task of wiping her skin free of dirt and salt.

He took his time, and had just finished when the tent flap opened to reveal Théoden King, Eòwyn standing just behind, in her arms was a simple dress. Her face was a stony mask but Théodred knew she did not appreciate her Uncles presence before the woman he had recently condemned. He couldn't say he argued with her. A frown of annoyance graced his face, but he stood as his father approached. His hand never left hers.

"So she is healed? And it was certainly a possession?" the King asked, hands clasped behind his back, making his posture hunched, giving the impression of a man much older. Dark bags under his eyes told of a troubled night.

Théodred gritted his teeth, "Yes, my Lord. But we still do not know the extent of the damage done."

Théoden hummed, his eyes on the now restored face of the beautiful woman. All signs of corruption, the black bulging veins, and dark eyes were gone. Only the stain of dark blood on her clothing and the bedding beneath her gave proof to the battle most recently won for her life. Her chest rose and fell with easy breaths and her even features were calm.

The King reached out a weathered hand, to touch the now cool forehead of his would be daughter. He sighed when she failed to stir and turned towards his only child by blood. "Forgive me, Théodred. I was hasty and allowed fear to override judgement. I see now how much this woman means to you and will do my utmost to apologize for my cowardice. To both of you, when she awakes."

The Prince started in surprise but felt tension leak from his body. He nodded, immensely grateful to no longer be at odds with his King. "I forgive you, father. And Leòwyn will as well, for her heart is pure."

Théodred nodded before raising a hand in farewell and retreating out of the tent. Eòwyn stepped forward, meeting her cousin's eyes with a smile of relief. She eyes the recently cleaned portions of Leòwyn's skin and her smile deepened.

"You did well, for never working in the healing houses before Théodred. But now you must step outside. I will change and clean the rest, then you may rejoin us."

The Prince sighed, not wanting to leave. "Can I just turn away? I promise I shall not look."

Eòwyn rolled her eyes but could not find it in her heart to send him away. She waved him to a back of the tent and almost giggled at the look of his large body huddling in a corner like a chastised child. Turning her attention to Leòwyn, she quickly stripped the woman of her ruined dress and threw it in a pile by the entrance of the tent. It would be burned later.

Eòwyn, while never fond of her work with the healers of Edoras, was quite proficient in the small tasks needed in a healing house. She cleaned and redressed Leòwyn with little effort and then bandaged the jagged wound on her forehead.

"Théodred, come lift her please. The bed linens need to be burned as well."

The Prince did so, easily but carefully swinging his betrothed into his arms, relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms. Her head rested just below his collarbone, her breath on his chest. Eòwyn stripped the bed, throwing them to join the growing pile in front of the tent, bound for incineration and replaced them with worn but serviceable blankets.

She motioned for Théodred to put the other woman back, and had him keep an arm under her shoulders. She then brushed and braided Leòwyn's greasy hair. A bath was out of the question until she awoke but a braid would keep her filthy locks from sticking to her bandaged head. Théodred slowly lowered her to the cot and brushed some wild locks behind her ears. He lowered his bulk to sit on the floor next to her side, once more taking up Leòwyn's hand.

Eòwyn placed a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly. A smile was her departing goodbye as she scooped up the soiled linens and pushed the tent flap back to flood in more light. She doubted Leòwyn would wish to wake in darkness or even semi-darkness, not after what she had experienced at the hands of the Witch King. It would give the two less privacy but it was worth the give and take.

Théodred shifted slightly before finding a more comfortable spot. His legs would cramp soon he knew but there was no helping it. His eyes once more locked onto Leòwyn's side profile and his head lowered to rest on the side of the cot, next to their clasped hands. Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, which he allowed himself to finally succumb too. He knew his body would awake immediately if the woman next to him so much as twitched.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

The day had come.

Théodred stood outside the tent that housed his betrothed, gaze unfocused. He was garbed in boiled leather and plated with worked metal. The armor of the Rohirrim gave his already broad shouldered frame an expanse that was rare even in the wilds of the North, even among the savages of the plains. He was a vision of the strength and power of his people. Upon his chest, the metal depicted two golden horses, rearing towards one another, with Rohirric knots of protection surrounding them – the design of the Line of Kings. Small ringlets of metal shone from underneath, his mail polished to perfection and placed over a red undershirt that signified him as royalty. At his hip swung an impressive broadsword, under his arm an ornate helm.

Despite his hope, Leówyn had failed to awaken and the King had commanded all to prepare to ride towards war at the break of day. Towards horror. Towards death.

Dread churned in his gut at the thought of departing without seeing the color of her eyes once more, her lips stretch into a smile she reserved for him alone, or the feeling of her lips on his, her passion matching his. His feet shuffled almost without his knowledge as his mind was torn between seeing her, possibly for the final time and laying still as if dead, or walking away to spare himself the pain. He knew it had naught been two full days since the Lord Elrond and the Heir of Elendil had saved her life, but he had still clung to hope that she would awaken before their ride to battle.

Aragorn had departed the night prior with his two companions, headed into the Dimholt by demand of the Elf Lord and the White Wizard. His fate had divulged from the fate of those riding to battle come morn. Théodred had wished them luck but did not save any hope for the three companions he considered friends. The Dimholt was not a place that allowed unlucky souls to escape. Many in the camp had felt they were fleeing for there was no hope. Perhaps they were right, but that would not stop the Men of Rohan from riding against the armies of Mordor.

With a head shake he chastised himself for his distraction and his selfishness, moving to push aside the tent flap. A hand on his shoulder halted him short of the entrance. At his side was Eómer, looking for all the world as a grim sentry, armored for battle and wearing a scowl fierce enough to scare the ranks of Sauron's legions.

"Be quick, cousin. The King shall not wait long," Eómer grunted, his gaze going to the tent as well. "I too wish we could have said goodbye."

The Prince gritted his teeth to stop his anger from spilling out of loose lips and causing more pain than had already been suffered. His rage surged forward, as he had come to expect. It had never truly settled and seemed to sit at the edge of his skin, waiting for its opportunity to be unleashed. He knew Eómer loved Leówyn in his own way, but the Third Marshall had always been one of few words and fewer emotions. Perhaps his gruffness was a sign of his emotions after all, how hard he was trying to hide them. With a nod, Théodred entered the tent, brushing off the large hand from his shoulder.

Past the tent flap lay a brightly lit scene. A multitude of oil laps had been placed around the small room, by request of the White Lady, and the flames heated the air to an uncomfortable level for the layers he was wearing. But they chased the shadows away and Eówyn was certain that _she_ would not wish to awake in darkness once more. With a sigh, he came to stand before the cot that upon rested Leówyn, daughter of Lilithien.

Her body lay still, the only movement being her slow, steady breaths underneath a loose smock. The dress Eówyn had replaced the night before was barely fit to be called such. It dwarfed the small frame of his bride, as it was made for a much more robust woman, making her seem frailer than he had ever seen her. Her dark hair, still held back by a braid, contrasted her pallor and emphasized the dark circles under her eyes, the unhealthy slimness of her face. Upon her chest, and looped around her neck, lay a chained crystal. It's ethereal, clear form seemed to pulse with an internal light.

Théodred placed his helm on the ground, kneeling to come level with the cot. His hand guided itself to the clammy forehead of the woman he loved so dearly. Terrible thoughts continued to pulse through his mind, the most prominent being that he would fall, never again to look upon her face, nor hold her in his arms. He could not help but feel as if he was abandoning her. Should she awake and find him gone, to a war they had no hope of winning, she would be distraught.

A tear slipped down his scruffy cheek, rolling into his half formed beard. He had not been able to convince himself to shave since Leówyn had fallen into shadow.

Lord Elrond had warned, even with the crystal he had enchanted to give Leówyn the strength to ward off the Lord of Minas Morgul, she might choose to stay as she was. He had seen many Elves, exposed to trauma, retreat within themselves. The strong awoke to rejoin the world. The overcome did not. Leówyn would have to make that choice, but Théodred could not be there when she did. For she had always told him that he must fulfil his duty, she would not begrudge him that.

From beyond the canvas around them, he heard the bellowing of a war horn, a signal to mount up. Once again, anger surged behind hazel eyes but was quickly overcome with grief. His heart pleaded for her to wake, to give him a glimpse of the woman he knew was still in there, fighting. His hand continued to stoke her hair, its shaking barely noticeable.

"Please, _ma gaestlufe_. Return to me," he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek.

When she failed to move, his head came to press their foreheads together, tears leaking onto her face. He rested there, close to her but not close enough, as another horn sounded outside. This one was a signal for the men at the bottom to clear a path for the King. Time had run its course.

With a muffled sob, he pulled back, eyes tightly closed and head bowed. One hand came up to cover his eyes, pressing roughly into them as he felt pain begin to build behind his eyelids. The other remained on Leówyn's arm, feeling the heat of her skin in contact with his.

The warrior sought to gather his grief into a bottle, placing it deep inside his chest, burying it with rage. Rage would be useful on the battlefield, grief would not. He drew in a deep breath, wiping callously at the tracks of water on his face. Deep, shaking breaths slowly calmed.

His arm dropped. Once more he looked on her face, noted her closed eyes, her slack face and with a sigh stood. Théodred leaned down to place a lingering kiss on her forehead, and then turned, scooping his helm from the floor with a damp hand. At the entrance of the tent, he looked backwards, unable to stop himself from hoping and his heart plummeted again at her stillness. His teeth groaned in protest at the tightness of his jaw.

"I love you."

His whisper went unanswered.

The Prince forced himself out of the tent, willing his uncooperative feet to take him to the party of the King. As he reached his father's side, all were mounted, and clearly waiting for the one missing piece of royalty. He easily swung onto the back of Brégo, and stared forward. He could not force himself to meet the eyes of the warriors, not even Eómer, not even his father. For all could see the remnants of profound sorrow etched into his wet eyelashes, and bloodshot eyes. There was a moment of deep silence, the only sound of shifting horses.

At a command from the King, another bellow was sounded and all spurred their horses onward. Théoden King's stark white charger led their way from the top of Dunharrow, and down through the still pitched camp. There was no use in tearing down a camp that might still have use, as a place for refugees should the battle go ill.

Théodred tensed, his shoulders bunching, to prevent himself from looking backwards. She had not awoken, and that would not change now. Cheers, muted as they were, rose as the King's party passed to the head of the column.

It took a considerable amount of will to keep his head erect instead of sinking as low as his heart. He concentrated on taking deep breaths and strove not to focus on the weakening bond he felt with Leówyn, the further he traveled from her. The leagues disappeared under Brégo's hooves. By the time they set up camp, Théodred was a shell, too tired to do much besides strip out of his armor and fall into his bedroll. The hard ground felt like a blanket of clouds.

He missed the worried glances shot between members of the King's entourage. He missed the small, feminine hands that placed food by his side, and covered him further with his blanket at night. He missed the cornflower blue eyes that stared at him with pity.

The days passed in a blur for the son of the King. At daybreak, he would attend to his needs and Brégo's before another day of hard riding. At the end of the day, as the moon rose high in the sky, he would pass into the world of dreams, some jolting him awake many hours before the others. None, in the party, could draw him into a conversation and after the first two days they stopped trying, watching him from the corner of their eyes but knowing there was not much to be done. Talking, throughout the army, was at a minimum with the speed they were traveling at anyway.

By the end of the fifth day, Théodred finally felt a tightness in his chest where before he had been numb. Tomorrow was the day of reckoning. It would be the day that many of the riders of Rohan would fall. Perhaps all would fall. Théodred closed his eyes, sitting in front of the fire, surrounded by warriors he had grown up around and he had never felt more alone.

His thoughts drifted back to the day he had realized he loved Leówyn. It had been the day he took his first unsupported steps after his life-threatening injury. Her small hands had stayed on his waist, stepping backwards as he moved one foot, then the other. Her lips parted in a beautiful smile, his breath abandoning him at the sight. He remembered the feeling of staring into her smiling face, and knowing he was lost without her. He could almost imagine her soft touch on his body. She had healed him, body and soul, and given him a reason to fight.

Like a crack of thunder, his rage returned and chased away the cursed numbness. Suddenly, he was Théodred, Prince of Rohan, once more. He had a reason to fight, he always had. His country was a reason to fight. His people was a reason to fight. Leówyn, still breathing, was a reason to fight.

Rage, untamed, flooded his body. Rage at Sauron, and his army for parting him from his beloved. And rage at his father for he had felt this madness before and had watched his heir struggle with being parted from a soulmate.

It demanded movement. Théodred's eyes snapped open, and he surged to his feet, startling the men closest to him. All eyes beheld the fury in the Prince's gaze and quieted. His dark eyes flashed in the firelight as his arms flexed. Booted feet swiftly propelled him forward.

From across the fire, Eómer grinned into his mug as he watched his cousin march off, leaving the ring of light. The Third Marshal had been waiting for days for Théodred to emerge from his pain. He had bet it would be before the battle, which meant many of the King's men owed him money. Truth be told, Eómer had never been in love. He could not imagine having something so intangible cripple a man as it had done the Prince. But he also knew Théodred's character. Nothing, not even this, would have kept him down indefinitely.

Théodred marched through camp, men dashing out of his way as they spotted his aggressive scowl. He barked, "Where is the King?" at one squire who jumped out of his skin at the tone of the Prince. A shaking hand had been the poor boys answer, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth.

The King was, once again, surrounded by his loyal warriors, many who had been with him since he was but a lad himself. They all noticed the approach of the Prince and quickly found reasons to leave the fire, streaming past the Prince with murmurs of deference. Théodred stood at the edge of the fire, blazing eyes staring at his father, who kept quiet. Burning hazel cooled in the face of ocean blue.

"I see you are returned, my son." The King's measured words were even.

Théodred huffed, arms cross his large chest. "You knew this would happen."

Théoden broke first, a smile stretching his lips and he shook his head ruefully. "I would be labeled a liar by my own men if I were to claim that I did not experience much of the same the first time parted from your mother. I do not envy your pain my son, for I once felt such sorrow I thought I would die from it. It is a trait that runs in our blood."

Théodred dropped his arms, face softening, before joining his father at the fire. He was still not in the mood to smile, anger stewing beneath the surface. "You did not think to warn me?"

Another wider smile. "Would it have done any good?"

The younger man sat quietly for a moment, stewing in his self-righteous anger. Then he snorted, his humor finally abating the rage for now. "I cannot say it would."

"You have always been my blood, since a babe you have taken after my worst traits, but you have also inherited all of your mother's redeemable ones. You are kind, and loyal. Steadfast in the face of adversity, that which Elfhild was well-known for. But you have my temper, and my shortsightedness. Those are not qualities sought for in a King."

Théodred hummed, agreeing. "You talk about mother as if she were the light to your shadow. I hardly deem that fair."

The King sighed, a hand coming to run across his beard. "Your mother was not perfect. But she was a perfect for me. My opposite in all ways. When I lost her, I lost a part of myself."

"Leówyn is my opposite, as mother was yours. I feel unbalanced without her."

The King nodded. "Though I have been around her little, she does seem to have a level head in times of suffering. She has already gained the love of many of our people, and that speaks much, for never let it be known that the Rohirrim trust outsiders."

For a moment, the father and son pair shared a doting smile. If he put his mind to it, Théodred could almost imagine the time when there was no great suffering of his people, the King was his valiant father who did no wrong, and they were not on the journey to war.

"I lost myself, leaving her side. Been separated from her is a physical ache. I fear for her, when she awakes, to find I abandoned her on her sick bed."

"You have spent much time defending Lady Leówyn to me. I believe you are now not giving her the credit she is due, my son. Stay the path."

Théodred smiled grimy at the well-used phrase. He had heard it countless times growing up, and knew it originated with his grandfather but somewhere along the years had become a family mantra. Stay the path. Do not falter, for faith is what determines fate. He nodded, to himself, before standing.

"Stay the path," he repeated, "Leówyn will be waiting for me, once this bloody war is concluded."

Théoden nodded, face serious. "And I shall have to endeavor to truly know her. If we survive this madness."

It was that sobering that brought their conversation to an end. Théodred sighed, rubbing his tired eyes and the King sent him off to find his bedroll, for a few hours before the dawn and the beginning of the end.

* * *

A green army on the march rode swiftly across plains that began to slope upwards. They had been traveling at a ground eating pace for half a fortnight and were reaching the end of their road. Soon, there would be bloodshed and pain, victory or defeat.

A stern figure, garbed in silver and gold, blood red peaking from underneath, sat atop a striding warhorse. The easy gait of the stallion below him was easily matched by his impeccable seat. For he had been born in the saddle and was whom all looked to for what a Rohirric rider was. He was also King, Commander of the Muster. Six thousand hoof beats resounded behind him.

To his right, a position reserved for his Second, rode a giant of a man, shoulders broad and arms thick. His sandy colored hair, flashing hazel eyes, and grim features were startling in combination. The bay charger he rode, larger than almost all in their ranks, paced effortlessly by the side of his white companion carrying the weight of the armored man with ease. The resemblance between the two was clear, and as they raced towards destiny, the men in the green cloaks of Rohan could not help but take strength in their visages.

The day was beginning to wane, with the weak sunlight hitting the backs of the riders of Rohan. In front of them, rose dark, angry clouds of pitch. The sky pulsed maliciously, tinted red and, in the distance, rose a white city of stone. It was carved into the mountain side and towered above the surrounding plains. Its face was marred with pockets of black, and sections were burning, smoke billowing to mix with the blanket of clouds.

The King reigned in his charger, slowing the beast to a trot. They would crest a hill in half a league and there, Théodred knew they would finally face their enemies, in open combat. His hands began to sweat, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ear. With a deep breath, he met the eyes of the King and nodded.

At a wave from the King, a lone horn bellowed in the deep. The nordic sound echoed as they reached the top of the small hill. Horses spread out along the ridge, and before them swam a sea of black bodies, writhing together in front of the city of Men.

Théodred knew no one could hear his gasp but he clenched his lips together anyway. The shear mass of the enemy before them was daunting, but he had known it would be. His stomach twisted into knots but he kept his expression even, for he knew many would be looking. Sending a quick prayer to Béma above, to give them the fleetness to break these lines of Hate, he steeled himself. With a steadying breath he leveled his head and stared down his nose at the doomed monsters who were already moving their lines to face the new threat.

To his right, the King withdrew his sword and turned his charger to sweep in front of the line of shuffling horses.

"Eómer, take your éored down the left flank. Gamling follow the King's banner down the center. Grimbold, take your company right after you pass the wall. Théodred, ride by my side. Forth, and fear no darkness!"

The King stopped and face the common soldiers behind him. He's eyes tracked over their faces and he saw the fear, and sorrow. He tsked, brandishing his sword.

"Arise! Arise, Riders of Théoden. Spears shall be shaken; shields shall be splintered. A sword day. A red day. And the sun rises!"

The King turned, spurring his horses down the line once more to clatter his sword upon the lowered spears of the éored's about to charge. Théodred's eyes could not look away at the inspiring man that his father had become, faced with such odds. This was the man he remembered from his young and emotion pressed behind his eyelids at the memory.

"Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the world ending!"

His cry of "Death!" was answered.

"DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!" echoed across the Field of Pelennor. A rising cry, from the White City rose to in response. The Gondorians rallied. The King motioned with his weapon forward.

"Forward, Eórlingas." Horns rose in the silence between breaths and slowly, the lines of Rohan moved down the hill. Battle cries, from six thousand lips, roared down the plains and over the enemy as the riders urged their mounts faster, until they resembled a stampede. Bright light, of the sun behind them, aided in blinding the front ranks of orcs and goblins.

Volleys of arrows were shot, horse's fell, riders pierced off saddles but the might of the Rohirrim would not be stopped. It thundered across the short distance as a wave hits a beach. Théodred, galloping directly behind his father, felt his battle lust rise along with his rage. For these spawns of evil were the reason he was separated from the woman he loved. He would kill them all if it meant he could return to her side. A murderous smile transformed his face, a glint entering his eye that frightened even the hardiest orc in his path.

The impact of meeting that first line of orcs felt as if the horses had hit water, barely breaking stride as bodies crumpled beneath their racing hooves. It helped that the cowardly creatures, upon seeing the raging line of cavalry, had begun to turn tail and run, pushing through their own line in fear. Théodred sneered in derision. What pathetic beings.

Soon, the momentum that was theirs began to die off, but they had fully broken into the middle of the dark army of Sauron, éored's breaking off to hunt down groups of fleeing orcs. Time melded together, as Théodred slashed and stabbed from atop Brégo, their dance a masterful art. His arm burned, and his chest heaved as it fought to take in breath. The warhorse beneath him was lashing out with hooves, and teeth, stomping those unfortunate to get in his path.

The Prince kept an eye on his father, cutting down enemies, directly in front of him when he heard the bellows. The orc army of Mordor was in full flight, and Théodred allowed himself a small smile of victory. But it was wiped from his face as the ground shook and a strange war cry filled the air.

He had thought he had seen all, but the legends of giant beasts with protruding bone bigger than a grown horse were new. The Múrmak. Oliphaunts. The monstrous size of these beasts washed the riders with a new fear. They were being ridden as one does a horse but by multitudes of men, and came charging at the broken line of Rohirrim. All stood, frozen, in horror. How was one to combat something so massive?

"Reform the line! Reform the line!" The King was shouting.

Théodred guided Brégo by instinct, his mind still reeling. A rock had formed in his stomach for he felt doom overtake hope in his chest. His sword arm sagged in despair, muscles twitching with fatigue.

"Sound the charge!" the Rohirric horn clashed with the battle horn of the Haradrim. Horses surged on behest of their riders, towards towering death.

As the horses split around the legs of fell beasts, tusks affixed with spikes crashed into horseflesh, sending man and companion flying. Others were crushed underneath massive feet or shot with arrows from above. Théodred felt his rage once more fill his exhausted body, pushing away the weariness. Directing Brégo to follow in the wake of one of the Oliphaunts, he grasped two spears, one from his saddle and the other from a passing rider.

Knowing his riders will as an extension of his own, Brégo raced around to the front side of the beast, far enough out of the reach of its deadly tusks, but close enough to see the eyes of the man on its head. Théodred snarled, and with all his might, harpooned the first spear. It soared and planted directly into the left eye of the giant beast.

With a scream the Oliphaunt shook its head, blood streaming from its ruined eye, and tossed off the rider that controlled its heading. Théodred tossed the second spear, this time catching the beast in the soft tissue of its neck. Distracted by the pain, the dull animal ran itself into another, to be crushed beneath its stumbling weight.

Théodred smirked and turned Brégo back towards the line of riders that were circling. He could see the white of his father's mount and made a beeline for him. He should not have allowed himself to be separated from the King, even if he was a fearsome warrior in his own right. A premonition washed over his body, as if a ghost had passed through his body. Shivers broke across skin. A screech, inhuman and terrifying, split the sounds of battle as a black shadow passed overhead.

The man froze. He had heard that screech before. Coming from the lips of his bride. He shook himself.

Dread, from deep within, filled the hearts of every man and mount. Horses bucked and threw their riders in fear, others bolted to run wild and uncontrollable. Brégo reared but was brought to hand by Théodred's firm hand. But it had cost them precious seconds, seconds that forced the Prince to watch as the shadow descended upon his father and tossed his horse bodily through the air. They landed with a crunch.

"No!" he heard himself shout, Brégo surging towards the spot of the fallen King.

A few seconds away from reaching his father's side, a troll stepped into the path of the Prince. The creature's head was level with the Prince's, atop his warhorse. Beady eyes, too small for its bulbous head, stared with a sinister intelligence.

Its malicious grin, teeth oozing red, fueled Théodred's rage. With a raw scream, the man launched himself off Brégo's back, and into the face of the vile monster, his dagger lodged in the beasts face, breaking through bone and sinew. The creature tipped backwards and a gust of foul breath signaled its death. Théodred awkwardly climbed off its body.

He turned, in time to see a lone figure standing before the imposing form of the Witch King. It seemed that whoever the rider was had been able to kill the fell winged beast the Nazgúl had been riding. That feat, in itself, impressed the Prince. As he watched, the soldier hastily ducked and dodged the powerful swings of the wraith, barely managing to keep up with the astonishing speed of the strikes.

Théodred whistled at his charger, and quickly mounted, steering Brégo to the aid of the rider protecting the body of his King. He sent another prayer that somehow, Théoden had survived.

Taking one of his lances, an uncommon weapon for the Rohirrim, from its place at Brégo's sidesaddle Théodred clutched it to his side and sped straight for the Nazgúl. Two against one was better than one versus one. The pounding of Brégo's hooves drowned out all other sounds. He saw the lone rider fall, collapsing to his knees after a blow that shattered his shield and arm.

The Witch King gripped the poor soldier by his throat, raising him in the air and hissed, _**"Die now."**_

Théodred roared and speared the wraith with his lance. It bounced harmlessly off the black armor of the being but it had distracted it from the wounded rider. The impact sent Théodred tumbling from his saddle, Brégo continuing to run forward, spooked by the presence of the dead. The Prince had counted on being unhorsed and sprang to his feet to face the one who had caused his beloved so much pain. The wraith turned to face the Prince.

"_**So the son joins his father. Now I shall not have to hunt you down."**_

The Prince snarled, crouching into a battle stance, sword arm raised. "I shall not make this easy, Evil Undead."

The wraith moved, instead of answering, and swung the large flail in its left hand. The weapon was spiked cruelly and threw up clumps of earth. Théodred ducked and dove forward, towards the Nazgúl, effectively nullifying the long range weapon. He forced the Witch King to drop the chain, and unsheathe his sword. The dark blade screamed as it hit the air, its surface pitted with cruel spells. Théodred cringed.

The first strike sent a bone deep shutter through his arm as it landed on his sword. The strength of the being greatly surpassed Théodred's own, but the Prince gritted his teeth and flung the sword off his. They parried blows, the wraith gained the upper hand, and Théodred tactfully retreating, pacing the Lord of Minas Morgul around the field. He focused on dodging, much as the rider before him had done, and not allowing the it close enough to touch him.

Théodred paused, to wipe sweat out of his eyes, and barely caught the downward stroke on the cross-guard of his blade. The power behind the blow sent him to his knees. His second hand had to come up and lend its strength to the battle of powers. The Nazgúl was crouched over the Prince, both hands pushing down on the man, hoping for weakness to break his defense. The being had not counted on the Heir of Rohan to be so strong. His Master had reason to fear the strength of Men still.

Théodred's own blade inched closer to his head, arms weakening at the pressure. The wright gave a triumphant screech that morphed into a cry of pain. Suddenly, the pressure on his blade was gone and the Witch King had its helmeted head thrown back in agony. The Prince fell onto his backside, the change in strength catching him off-balance.

Théodred eyed the small figure that had a dagger planted in the leg of the undead. The Hobbit, which he recognized from the feast in Edoras, screamed in pain as the dagger was expelled from the undeads body. He craddled his arm, body shaking. As if materializing out of thin air, the rider that Théodred had saved stepped in front of the fallen Prince, sword in hand.

"_**You fool. No Man can kill me." **_The wraith gasped.

The rider pulled his helmet off with one hand, revealing long golden locks that fell in large ringlets. Théodred gaped, he knew that hair.

"I am no Man…_This is for Leówyn_."

With a scream, Eówyn thrust the sword into the black shrouded face of the Witch King of Angmar. The sword flung backward, out of her grip, as she looked at her hand in surprise. Pain radiated over her face and she fell, into Théodred's waiting arms who rose to catch her. Together, they watched as the infamous Black Captain of Sauron, in its dying spasms, crumbled into a ball before sending a small shock wave across the plain.

Théodred's breathing was as ragged as his cousins. "Did you just kill the Witch King?" he asked.

Eówyn, eyes wide, turned her head to lock on his gaze. Her surprise muted her but she nodded. They stared at each other until Théodred let out a huge whoop, drawing laughter from the woman, before she clucthed her broken arm in pain once more. They embraced each other gently with tears of joy. For the one who had tormented their family, a woman they both loved, was vanquished.

* * *

Many leagues away, in a brightly lit tent, a woman in white stirred. Her eyes raced behind closed eyelids before artic cornea's, clouded milky white, snapped open. A deep breath expelled in a large gasp.

* * *

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	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

* * *

A woman in an oversized smock stirred painfully. Her dark hair was splayed below her, having fallen out of the loose braid put in place by the White Lady. Greasy tendrils clung to her damp skin. Her body was curled tightly, as if to protect itself from an unseen malice, arms folded.

With a groan, her eyelids shuttered open to reveal the barest hint of blue beneath a cloud of white. Leówyn blinked once more, and with sudden clarity knew her fate. The Witch King was dead, for she had seen the undead fall in a dream like state. Its dying screech had been haunting and intensely satisfying. But her torture at the hands of the wraith had damaged her.

A flickering of yellow light was the only sign that she had escaped her dreamless prison and reawakened into the living world.

A muted darkness encompassed her mind, but she could sense no maliciousness in the inky depths that was sometimes penetrated by a hazy light. Only a stunned silence remained. A shadow moved in her eye line, but its murky form could not be made out by her crippled eyes.

A voice, one familiar, reached her ears. "Ma Lady, have ye awakened?"

It took her slow mind a moment to form a response. Her thoughts seemed tangled and her mind far from the clarity that was her norm.

A rasp escaped dry lips, "Aye."

The word spoken swiftly transformed into a cough that shook her thin frame, her ribs aching in protest.

Rough hands levered her shaking body into a half sitting position, her head hanging low before a mug was thrust into her hand, and guided to her lips. "Now, now, drink up ma Lady. Ye have been slumberin' fer long enough. Best take some time."

A rich, sweet mead sloshed across her tongue, clenching her stomach in a wild hunger. With reckless abandon she guzzled as much as she could before the old maid snatched it away.

"Ay said take yer time girl. Tha mead ain't runnin' away."

A soft thump rocked her head backwards slightly. Leówyn blinked, realizing the crotchety woman had actually struck her. Her mind was blank – no emotion surfaced other than mild surprise.

Her sightless eyes missed the concerned wrinkle on Bertha's face at her non-reaction. The normally feisty brunette would have most definitely blanched, and possibly struck back in jest. Leówyn only nodded and once more allowed Bertha to guide the mug to her lips. She sipped slowly, and could almost feel the other woman nod. Leówyn blinked again, resisting the temptation to rub at her blurry eyes.

"Bertha," her voice smoother, "Is there much light about us?"

The maid was silent for many moments, then she grunted. "Aye, the White Lady ordered lamps burnin' 'round the candle 'til ye awaken. Waste of good oil if ye ask me. If tha film upon yer eyes tells anythin', it is of blindness."

Leówyn's breath expelled on its own and suddenly she could not take in another. Her chest thrummed with tension, muscles coiled tightly to restrict movement. Bertha had carelessly confirmed what the maiden knew to be true. Evil had taken from her something which she treasured dearly. Her sight.

With a cry, Leówyn gripped the sides of her head and shoved her head between her knees, the mug bouncing on the dirt ground. Her mouth hung open, as a fish caught on a line, as her body screamed for air. Tears leaked from her ruined eyes, tracking streaks down her face. Time slowed as she counted the beats of her racing heart, where the fear and pain of her torment resided. It feebly tried to fight her healers mind as the world spun and her feet untethered from the solid earth. Sharp pain bloomed unendingly, like a river lapping at its banks, in her chest.

Another resounding thump, this one much harder than the last and on her hunched back forced a portion of air into her lungs. One more, just as strong, finally allowed the woman to draw a full breath. Leówyn choked and gargled, her breaths coming out harshly between clenched teeth. Tears leaking from between closed eyelids slowly halted, the pain lessening with each shaking gasp. As the young woman focused on the signals her body was giving her, she slowly returned to reality.

A small hand was rubbing circles into her prone back, words of nonsense whispered from above her. She knew this panic attack was coming to an end but it had seemed strangely extended and she could not allow herself to hope it would end here. Her mind raced through the potential consequences of her life now.

Her ears picked up the hushed whispers of the conversation happening over her hear followed by retreating boot steps of a few of the guards left behind. They were either too old or too young to fight in a doomed battle and so had been tasked with securing the refugee camp and protecting the women and children of Rohan.

Her mind reverted back to the state of her eyes. How could she live without them? Leówyn had always relied on her Elvin senses to transverse a dangerous world on her own. Without them, could she even survive? Could she adapt in a world of darkness when darkness was the very thing that terrified her most of all? A shiver ran down her back, raising bumps along her skin.

Another thought struck her, a knife spearing her chest…Would Théodred still love her without her eyes? She dismissed that insecurity quickly. Of course he would. She knew his heart, and just as hers belonged to him, his belonged to her. Sight or no sight. The people of Rohan, and Théoden King, would be a different story entirely. As if reading her thoughts, or her the changes in her expression, Bertha spoke.

"Do'unt fret ma Lady. Ye have nothin' to be ashamed o'. Ye suffered mightily and did nah break. Tha is worthy in ma book."

Leówyn, still out of breath, gasped, "Not all will be so understanding, Bertha. You know better than I the curse said to be upon those with no sight."

The old maid tutted, "Tha peoples of this country know yer character ma Lady. Ye have shown it time and again. Ye will keep yer head high, spine straight an remember who ye are. Ye are Lady Leówyn, future Queen of Rohan. So act right."

Bertha emphasized her point with another thump to the younger woman's back. This time Leówyn felt a surge of irritation. The old woman was goading her, but she did not yet feel whole and so settled for shooting the batty crone a raised brow.

Leówyn felt stretched thin, as if holes had been bore through her spirit. A flash of malevolent red rolled through her mind and she felt her body freeze in turn. 'Twas only a memory but it enticed fear nonetheless. Where once her _fea_ would have lashed out strongly to protect her mind, she now felt a barren emptiness, only wisps of disorganized energy to be felt. She feared her once vibrant _fea_ would be in tatters, sundered, if she were to look closer. Leówyn squashed her curiosity with fear, and turned her thoughts to other matters.

"Bertha, I remember pain, and fighting a once man of my bloodline but I cannot recall anything after the great light. How long was I asleep? Have the men marched for war?"

"Yessum, ma Lady. Tha soldiers left perhaps a fortnight ago. Naught but two days ago tha sky cleared, and a fresh wind blew from the east. Sumthin' nun of us had ever thought to feel again. Then ye awoke."

"Does that mean they won?"

"Ay can hardly explain such wonders anyhow else, ma Lady. Tha King will have sent a rider no doubt. We must await word."

Leówyn nodded, falling silent once more, trying to contain her hope. Hope that the last ride of Men had truly defeated the legions of Sauron and that Théodred have somehow survived.

A loud rumble broke the silence between the two women. Leówyn felt her cheeks flush pink as Bertha cackled. "Ay'll fetch sum food fer ya. In tha meanwhile, ye could use a bath ma Lady."

Said woman gasped, fingers combing through her filthy locks as the old woman laughed again. A rueful smile, small but noticeable, broke across her face and Leówyn swore she heard a sniffle coming from the direction of the old woman.

Bertha stepped out of the tent, her rough skin like sand on the canvas tent. Leówyn started, surprise filtering into her numbness as she processed what her ears had heard. The sliding of skin on a canvas tent. Even with Elvin senses that should be neigh impossible and especially for her. Of all her Elvin senses, hearing had always proved her weakest. But now, she could hear even the lowest chirp of a bird on a tree branch many tents away. Leówyn focused, her ears picking up the smallest movement of a mouse rustling the grass just beyond the tent opening.

So focused on her new found prowess, Leówyn overlooked the arrival of two maids, each carrying a large steaming bucket of water. They tittered behind strong hands as she jumped. Her sightless eyes snapped to where she could hear their movements and could not withhold a flinch at the sounds of dismay and horror that escaped them as they took in her damaged eyes.

Silence stretched inside the tent of the future Queen of Rohan, to be broken by two stable boys hauling in a shallow tub. Bertha appeared seconds later, carrying a tray of delicious smelling meats and fresh bread. The smells invaded Leówyn's nose and she almost wished her nose had not become so sensitive, as her ears, for the scents were overwhelming.

Noticing the soft whispers of the two hand maidens still in the corner of the tent and Leówyn's averted gaze, the Mistress of Ceremonies spoke.

"Ye two lasses better naught be gossipin' behind ma Lady's back an' in her presence no less. Tha Lady is to be yer Queen, and ye will show her the respect as is her due, or Ay shall have ye dismissed" her voice cracked like a whip, true silence descending.

Leówyn could hear the awkward shuffling of the women's feet. The braver maid replied, "But Mistress, surely there is no way a sightless woman can be Queen. 'Tis a curse."

Leówyn felt her ears begin to tingle as anger grew in her stomach. They acted as if she had been born blind. As if she had not fought, and won the battle for her life and in consequence lost her ability to see the waking world. As if this was not a battle wound of its own kind. She clenched her hands tightly together to keep her mouth shut as momentary anger was replaced with sorrow and shame. Bertha scoffed.

"An ay suppose ye are to be the one to tell Prince Théodred tha he cannot marry the woman he loves on account of her fightin' off a Nazgul?"

Gasps were heard. "A Nazgul?" one boy spoke up.

Leówyn felt some tension leave her neck and shoulders. She could almost see, in her minds eyes, the wide legged stance and crossed arms of her staunchest protector. Bertha would be scowling right fierce, a glint entering her gaze that warned those near not to tangle with the Mistress of Ceremonies, personal friend of the Royal Household.

"Tha's right. Ma Lady fought off a Ringwraith. An' nah just any wraith – the Witch King 'imself."

More gasps. Whisperings were back, and hurried footsteps before Leówyn sensed two figures before her. Bertha had clearly let them pass her, and so the younger woman felt safe knowing there was little danger in allowing them close to her, so feeble and unseeing. She heard the old woman shooing the stable hands from the tent with clipped words.

The two maids dropped into curtsies and bowed low, their foreheads touching the fur covered floor. "Ma Lady," the same voice from before spoke, "please forgive ma misgrievin's. 'Twas inappropriate of me to question royalty."

The woman beside her echoed her apology. The waver in her voice gave away her age. Leówyn suspected her to be no more than one and four, maybe one and three. With a slight sigh, Leówyn raised her sightless eyes and stared forward, head level. She purposefully straightened her spine, feeling unused muscles stretch. She shot Bertha's direction a quick look before speaking. Her heightened hearing heard the old woman's good-natured scoff.

"Please, rise. What are your names?"

"Aelswith, an' Aerlene, ma Lady."

Leówyn nodded and made sure to blink. Since awakening she found her eyes did not feel the urge to blink. Perhaps a movement for those with sight. She turned her head towards the Mistress of Ceremonies.

"Bertha, please speak with the camp Mistress and have Aelswith assigned as my personal handmaiden henceforth."

Bertha responded immediately, as if she had been expecting such a move, "Ay will, ma Lady."

Another voice, one Leówyn identified as Aelswith, rose higher in pitch. "Why? After ma words."

Anger colored the girls words but Leówyn heard an undertone of relief and so smiled – more of a twitch of her dry lips. Bertha hissed behind the girls in reprimand. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Leówyn spoke.

"Those that speak their mind, even under threat of punishment, are rare and should be valued. You are brave Aelswith, and bold - which I find myself in need of. I fear the battle for my life might be over, but the war for my spirit and my livelihood has just begun. I could use a maid such as you, should you choose to accept my offer."

Leówyn heard the girl shuffle. "What of Aerlene?"

A larger smile stretched the future Queens lips. "What would you have be done?"

The question seemed to take the young girl off guard. To have the future Queen ask her opinion was not something done often nor something a lowly maid would ever expect.

"I shalln't leave her. She is ma sister in all but blood. If I agree, Aerlene must too." The fierce loyalty in the young woman's voice pleased Leówyn. She would need loyalty, as she pieced together her future.

Leówyn could feel her energy failing fast, her muscles beginning to twitch but she did her best to ignore it. She moved her gaze to the right, taking a guess as to where the younger maid was standing.

"Aerlene, I will extend the same offer to you. Will you take the honor of becoming my personal handmaiden?"

"Yessum, ma Lady." The quiet reply was instant.

"Then, I shall as well ma Lady." Aelswith rushed.

Leówyn nodded, unclasping her hands from her lap and reaching them both gently forward. She smiled – a true smile – as each girl took one hand reverently. "I thank you both. Bertha, please have them moved to a tent close to mine and coordinate their duties."

Leówyn squeezed the two small hands in hers before dropping them once more to her lap. The Mistress of Ceremonies bowed lightly, the Elf-Maid hearing the crinkle of her apron, "As you wish, Lady Leówyn."

The woman, old enough to be all of their mothers, turned to the young maids and scowled. "An' what do ye say to tha Lady?"

In response both spun back to face Leówyn and practically shouted their thanks, gratitude clear in their voices. Bertha tutted.

Bertha addressed the two new servants once more. "Fetch tha Lady more bath water, an' make sure 'tis hot. After tha, find 'er some proper clothes as tha smock is not fit fer a vagabond."

Leówyn smiled wearily, the strain of exhaustion showing on her face, "That was rude Bertha."

The crone scoffed as the two young girls giggled on their way out, "As fur ye – 'tis time for tha bath. Whilst we wait for them girls to return, ye must eat somethin'." She handed Leówyn the large plate of assorted meats, each smelling more delicious than the last and with unrestrained gusto she dug in.

"That 'twas a kind thin' ya did, Leówyn. Ay have said it before, an' ay'll say it again. Ye will make a fine Queen."

* * *

Leówyn had never felt her skin as raw as it felt now, not even after scrubbing orc blood of it. Her two new maids, under the direction of Bertha, had scrubbed her so clean she wondered if she had any skin left. Raw but also refreshed. Her damp hair, longer than she normally kept it, lay down her back in loose waves.

With a full belly and a newish dress she could feel her eyes begin to droop. Bertha smiled, and helped the brunette to her bed, laying her hair upwards on the pillow to dry without giving her charge a chill. As she tucked the blanket around Leówyn, whose eyes were closed and breathing soft, Bertha was reminded of her first child – the one she had lost. Leówyn was much like Ceolith, such a kind hearted child.

Retreating quietly out of the tent, leaving a single lap burning, Bertha gave orders to the guards to allow no one but herself to disturb the Lady then sought her own bedroll, a wistful smile still gracing her wrinkled face as the clear air smelt of earth and rain, not metal and soot.

* * *

Leówyn awoke feeling more restful but weary. She sighed and levered herself into a sitting position. She had come to expect waking only to be tired quickly in recent days.

Her dreams had haunted her struggling mind. The little deep sleep she had been able to attain had been short, but thankfully not filled with terror. Even as her eyelids threatened to drag closed, Leówyn rose from her cot. Once her feet were firmly on the floor, she began to stretch and move sore muscles. Shadows danced in her eyes, light breaking through in sporadic bursts but she could just make out dark areas she assumed meant furniture or the walls of the canvas she was housed in.

Her exhaustion had been placed to the side for now, as Leówyn received a full report of the status of the camp and all who still resided here.

Many had left. Retreating back to their homes, across the lands but many had also stayed after the lifting of the dark clouds. This would most likely be the first place that a rider, sent by those who had survived, would travel. To inform the one holding the throne of the outcome of the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

And that was Leówyn. As the bride of the Prince, and with Eòwyn suspiciously missing, she now was forced to take the mantle of the Kingdom of Rohan, even as unprepared as she felt. While she had been sleeping, Bertha had run the camp with an iron fist but there were reports now streaming in of small settlements burning, orcs running from the east – seemingly trying to escape, and leaving destruction in their wake. Leówyn could feel her teeth groaning as her jaw clenched tight, listening to the newest report.

A small town – over a hundred women and young children, the elderly – had been attacked some days ago less than two day's travel from the encampment. Many survivors were streaming into Dunharrow, in familial groups.

"What shall we do, Princess?" The messenger, who looked as tired as Leówyn felt, asked. Griswirth, the encampment commander and seasoned rider, stood with a hand on the man's shoulder. Leówyn could almost feel his sneer from her seat many feet away.

Leówyn closed her non-seeing eyes with a small breath. This was it. Her first decision as a royal and all she could think of was how she wished Théodred was here. He would know immediately what to do. For he was born to rule. Born to be a leader of Men. And she was born to be a healer, not to send Men to battle and bloodshed. But to heal them in the aftermath. That thought sparked another, and with relief she knew what to do.

"Attend first to the wounded and refugees. Our people are of the foremost importance. See them fed, clothed, and given a place to rest," she spoke, voice soft but clear. "The orcs are bound to have moved on, I want them tracked. Send a few scouts to monitor their movements, with a larger force following behind. If they look to be readying to attack another town, I want them eliminated. If not, let them pass."

A loud scoff came from Griswirth. "My Lady, with all due respect, you have no experience in battle. We cannot let this scum pass unchallenged through our lands. We are at war. It is a danger to all those who call themselves people of Rohan."

Bertha, standing at Leówyn's shoulder opened her mouth loudly to protest his ringing derision. All those in the tent heard it in his voice, as she was sure it showed on his face. She could feel the tension in the air. Leówyn silenced her with a hand.

Griswirth was a well-respected knight, a hardened warrior and while his disapproval would not prevent her from making sure her orders were followed, having his support would go a long way with securing the rest of the camp. She decided to tread lightly.

She kept her milky eyes, quite unnervingly, fixed on the grizzled warrior who had lost his left hand in a skirmish many years ago. He had been given this command, as a sign of respect, and to soften the blow of not being allowed to join the Gondorian battle.

"How many orcs attacked that town Master Griswirth?"

The old man grunted. "I am not entirely certain…my lady." Her title was used begrudgingly under the seething stare of the Mistress of Ceremonies. No one wanted Bertha as an enemy.

"So should I send our warriors into battle with these monsters, without knowing their strength, what would be a likely result sir?"

Leówyn had to repress a smile as she heard the man's leather wrapped hilt crack I protest under his tight grip. She had asked it as if she knew nothing of war and battle. As a beguiling woman.

"It could lead to an ambush, my lady."

"Thank you, Master Griswirth. I will not risk more lives than have already been stolen from this country by the vileness of Mordor. As spoken before, no man shall attack the orcs ranks unless they are posed to attack another town and kill our people."

She waited for confirmation from those around her before opening her mouth to continue. Before she could speak, a rider burst through the tent flap and silenced all. She heard loud panting, coming from the man who had joined their party, before motioning him forward with her hand.

"Please, come. Bring us your news. We have been expecting you."

"My Lady," she heard his breathing approach the ground and realized he had bowed, "I am Englebert, a rider sent by Marshall Eómer. I have news of the battle."

Leówyn stilled her nerves with effort. She nodded. "Rise and continue Englebert. Tell us your message. We are all very eager to hear it."

The man cleared his throat, "I am to tell you of the battle, beginning with the end of the journey. Théoden King led us for six days and five nights to the aid of our neighbors to the south. On the final day, and the final march we came upon a large hill and in the distance rose a white city. As we crested a long slope, the King signaled for the horn of the Rohirrim to sound in the deep and our army lined along a long hill to gaze upon the might of the Dark Lord Sauron."

He took a deep breath and released it in a large gust. His voice shook before evening, "The might of the enemy was not of this world. The Pelennor Fields were painted in black bodies as far as the eye could see and the sound. It was enough to induce terror from a league away. Ladders, and catapults were destroying the wall of the white city, one stone at a time. The city was burning and the screams of terror from the Gondorian's inside reached our ears for monsters had breached the first levels."

Leówyn felt her head spin and had to bite her tongue, enough to taste blood, to focus on the messenger once more. To be confronted with such numbers must have been daunting.

"Théoden King signaled us forward and the might of the Rohirrim barreled down the hill, hitting the ranks of the enemy's right flank with a rage I have never experienced. Fear fled in the face of disgust and bloodlust. Our arrow broken into the center of the army of orcs and trolls and we sent them streaming back to the river. But then, Sauron unleashed beasts of legend. Múmakil from the Harad. Large, tusked beasts of burden taller than the Deeping Wall. We formed the line once more and charged. I watched riders be plucked from their horses but black fletched arrows. Horses flung off their feet to land in a heap by the swing of a spiked tusk."

"Terror reigned and in the confusion, the Black Captain of Sauron, The Witch-King, mounted upon a black terror with wings, descended on Théoden King and flung our King from his saddle to be pinned under his faithful mount. Those of us who witnessed it were all certain of his immediate death. But as the beast approached his body, a soldier sprung between them and killed the fell winged monster. A feat impressive in itself. After a short fight with the Witch-King that ended with a broken arm, and shattered shield, all seemed lost for the lone rider. Until Théodred, Prince of Rohan, charged and knocked the Ringwraith backwards, only to be flung from his saddle from the impact."

Leówyn felt her breath hitch. This was the first mention of her betrothed and it was of heroic deeds. She had expected nothing else from Théodred but she found herself on the edge of her seat, leaning towards the center of the room, eager for more.

"The Prince fought the undead, parrying blows and pacing it around the field before slipping and being caught, the Ringwraith having leverage and all looked lost. Until one of the companions of Lord Aragorn, a Hobbit by the name of Merry, stabbed the wraith in the leg. Then the first solider removed her helm, to reveal Lady Eòwyn, our White Lady in disguise, and she stabbed the Witch-King in its helm, killing the right hand of the enemy. For no Man can kill a wraith but a woman can."

The tent broke out into clapping and cheering at the death of the Witch-King. Shouts of "Lady Eòwyn" pervaded the air and Leówyn's face broke into a large smile, the first since awakening. Her heart soared to know her friend had fulfilled her deepest wish – for glory – and had survived.

"And what of Lady Eòwyn and Prince Théodred?"

"They live my lady. Lady Eòwyn is in the Healing houses of Minas Tirith and Prince Théodred, continued the fight until Lord Aragorn entered the field with an army of the undead. An army of ghosts, found in the Dimholt Road. With the arrival of the undead army, the battle was won and the city rid of the enemy."

Leówyn clasped her hands. "And Théoden King?"

Englebert sighed, "My King died an honorable death. And has joined the Hall of his Fathers."

A great cry left the tent, sorrow tainting the air as men fought to control their cries. Leówyn stared at her lap, milky eyes filled with tears. Her happiness at hearing that Théodred and Eòwyn lived was now tainted with grief. As she clenched her hands, she felt Bertha's hand come up to grasp her shoulder. With a sniffle she raised her head.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, my lady. That concludes my tale. The armies of Rohan and Gondor are now marching to strike the land of Mordor."

"What?!" she cried. "They are doing what?"

"My lady, it was decided that the armies of Mordor must be drawn out, to allow for the Ring bearer to pass through the lands of Mordor unseen. To do this, our armies will offer themselves as a final battle."

Griswirth spoke up, "Surely Sauron will not fall for such an obvious trap."

"'Tis what the Wizard Gandalf said but Lord Aragorn was sure and Prince Théodred agreed. They will be close to the black land by now."

Leówyn felt tears fill he eyes once more.

"Thank you for telling us your story, Englebert. You have done an honorable job and I commend you. For fighting in this battle of the ages, for surviving, and for risking your life once more to bring us this news. Please take some rest and find me once you are suitably revived."

The rider bowed low, making no sign that he had noticed or cared about Leówyn's blindness before exiting the tent with a thank you. Silence once more took hold of the air surrounding her. Leówyn sighed, "What is next?"

Bertha sighed, "That is all for now, My Lady. Perhaps a meal and some rest?"

Leówyn nodded, "Master Griswirth, when shall your men leave?"

The warrior spoke, "Tonight, my Lady."

With a nod, the man bowed and retreated through the tent flap. After him, the rest of the spectators streamed out, motioned by Bertha, and left Leówyn and her maids alone for the first time since she had risen this morning.

"Come, ma Lady. Ay can see tha pain on yer face. Ye have expended much strength this day."

Bertha guided Leówyn out of the back flap, and back towards her royal tent. Leówyn dropped herself by the fire outside of her tent and was quickly brought a hearty bowl of soup and fresh bread by Aerlene.

"Thank you, my dear." The girl squeezed her Lady's hand before retreating to finish her daily chores. The lass was a quite one but her diligence in caring for Leówyn endeared herself to the future Queen and to the Mistress of Ceremonies.

With a grunt, said woman seated herself across from Leówyn with her own meal. Neither spoke a word as they ate their food nor after their bowls were long empty and the fire had begun to dwindle. Leówyn stared at the flickering light she could just make out and allowed herself to get lost in her own mind. Since her torture she had purposefully avoided venturing into herself with a fear that she would lose herself in the broken pieces of her _fea_ and the shattered walls of her mind. But with Théodred on a death march she weakly reached for the tethered line that connected to them. It pulsed almost unknowingly. She held it in her corporeal hand, feeling his life through her fingers and drew it close to her heart. As long as she could feel him, she knew he was alive.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

* * *

The days passed swiftly for the people of Rohan, especially in the encampment of the King at Dunharrow. Leówyn had chosen to withhold sending riders across the plains of Rohan to spread the news of Sauron's defeat at the White City. It would not do to give the common folk hope, only for the Battle of Mordor go ill. Traversing the roads was also still dangerous, possibly more so now that packs of orcs were spotted almost daily fleeing north. So they waited. With tension ripe in the summer air.

To busy herself, Leówyn received petitioners for hours each day. The practice was exhausting - finding solutions to shortages in food, water, and providing safety to all those who needed it with as few warriors as she had. When she was not hearing pleas, she was sleeping. There never seemed enough hours in the day to get the amount her weakened _fea_ and abused body wanted. Each day she felt more transparent.

She knew Bertha saw it, as did her two Lady's maids but all kept silent for they knew she did not wish to speak on it. Her spirit was still in tatters and she had no knowledge of how to heal such a thing or if healing was possible. For now, and possibly always, she lived with a deep ache that throbbed from her core and built slowly during the course of her wakening hours. When it became unbearable, she slept – like a woman dead. When she woke, the pain was manageable…until it slowly built once more and she was forced to repeat the cycle.

"I despise this waiting Bertha," she sighed, "Not knowing if they live or have perished and all hope is lost."

The old woman nodded, quickly realizing her Lady could not see it, and spoke, "'Tis always tha burden of womenfolk. We suffer tha unknown an' can only pray to tha gods for our men's return."

Leówyn sighed again, "I cannot just sit idle any longer. Have my horse saddled please Bertha. I am in need of a ride."

Silence met her. She knew Bertha was giving her the look again. The look she gave her, one of exasperation and annoyance, every time Leówyn tried to do things that only those with sight could safely do.

Leówyn smiled, or tried too. The darkness that evaded her eyes was slowly growing, even the small splinters of light she once saw were fading away with each passing day. Soon her blindness would be complete and she had becoming increasingly agitated because of it.

"I do not care about safety, dear woman. I will not let losing my sight hinder me from partaking in activities I have always enjoyed. I am not invalid Bertha. And I am not fragile."

As those words passed her lips, she had to stop herself from grimacing. For fragile is exactly how she felt – on the inside. Her body might be strong enough to handle most adversities, but her mind was as weak as a rose petal. Still, all she wished for was a short ride. Leówyn was certain it would help clear her head.

"Aye, ma Lady. But ye will take a few men with ya, and no funny business."

Leówyn smiled, truly this time, "Yes, Mistress. I shall be as behaved as possible."

The old woman scoffed, silently thanking Béma that her Lady and dare she say it friend, still retained her warped sense of humor. The Witch King had been unable to strip at least that from the poor woman. But he had taken so much else. The maid turned Mistress walked on swift legs to summon Arlene and Aelswith to dress Leówyn in something more suitable to ride.

The two maids quickly helped their future Queen change into breeches and a long tunic - remnants of what Eówyn had left behind. A belt went around her worryingly thin waist followed by her hunting knife strapped to her side. Leówyn patted the familiar hilt, so much more textured to her sensitive skin now. She allowed Aelswith to place her satchel, its worn but trustworthy form comforting to her, over her shoulder before nodding.

With a sigh she allowed Arlene to take her hand and gently lead her to the temporary stables. The young woman had a knack for helping Leówyn see without using her eyes. Her detailed descriptions of the surroundings and her timely notifications of any impending tripping hazards were a blessing from the Valar to Leówyn, who was still struggling to adjust to life without sight.

She could smell the stables far before they reached them. The familiar scent of hay and horses drew a content, if small, smile and she tuned her ears to the sound of her bonded. Felaròf whickered as he saw her draw near, placing his overly large head into her abdomen but with a lightness that told Leówyn that the horse could sense her condition.

"Thank you Arlene. Please tell the men that I will be ready in a moment, I would like some time with Felaròf."

The young woman, barely out of childhood, curtsied. "Yes, malady. He has been saddled and bridled. I will be around the corner, please call when you wish to mount."

Leówyn hummed, listening with only half an ear as she stroked the broad head of the buckskin warhorse.

"_Hello, meld er. Im am sorrui an ú- coming na see cin. Tis baw excuse but im gar- been flae. Dihen- nin, mui mel."_

The horse seemed to understand for he once more head butted her abdomen before his curious mouth began wandering her pockets, sniffing for the treats he knew she had brought. With a small laugh, Leówyn fished a plump apple from her satchel.

"_Cin always know ir im gar- sweets," _she whispered as the large horse munched quickly on the fleshy treat. "Will you carry me today, bonded horse?"

Felaròf whined in response. "Arlene, I am ready now."

Her lady's maid was by her side in an instant, toting a wooden stool. "Careful, malady. Yer horse is awfully tall."

Leówyn nodded, concentrating on keeping her balance on one leg while grabbing the saddle horn in her hands. "Felaròf, steady."

At her words, the warhorse locked his legs and stood unmoving, allowing Leówyn to use his body as a lever to push herself into the saddle. Relying only on sense of touch, she was finally able to seat herself comfortably and for once was unworried about a fall from how high Felaròf's back was. For she could not see the ground and that had always worried her.

Leówyn smiled, feeling the large body beneath her. She leaned down to pat the horses neck, and whispered, "Thank you, _mui mel."_

She sighed, adjusting her seat before nodding. Arlene took the loop of the reins and slowly guided the large horse and his rider out of the stables. The sun was partially clouded but the air was warm enough to make up for the lack of direct light. Though she could not see them, Leówyn heard her escort urge their horses into motion at sight of her astride the _Mearas_. As she passed they all grunted words of greeting and the four riders, each heavily armed fell in behind her.

Arlene halted the horse and squeezed her mistress's hand. "Safe travels, malady."

Leówyn bestowed upon her a genuine smile, her heart light for the first time in many days. "Thank you, Arlene. I will see you in a few candles. Please tell Mistress Bertha not to worry, 'tis only a short ride."

The young maid smiled, "Of course, Lady Leówyn."

"_Lets glenn_, Felaròf."

The large buckskin moved, slowly at first as they transversed the winding pathway that led to the bottom of Dunharrow, then picked up his pace to an even trot as the small company headed out of the encampment and to the open plains. Leówyn had purposefully let her hair loose, with only the sides pulled back to keep the strands out of her face so she could feel the wind toss her dark locks around. The freedom of once more feeling winds across her face, and her strong bonded under her legs brought a rush of emotion.

Tears leaked from her eyes but even they could not detract from the stunning happiness that stretched her lips into a wide grin. She urged Felaròf into a gallop, confident that he would not let her fall. With a sudden pang she realized how much she was going to miss seeing the vivid sea of greens and yellows of summer across the plains.

As much as she wished to allow the Felaròf the space to stretch his legs to their fullest potential, she knew she could not. She was acutely aware of her disability and leaving behind the men who were to protect her, in these times, was unwise.

After what seemed too short of a time, she slowed Felaròf to a trot and then a walk. He was heaving in great breaths but she could sense the excitement in his movements and knew the horse would have continued to run forever had she wished it. But she took pity on the lesser mounts of the men behind her.

Leówyn motioned over her shoulder. A rider, the senior warrior, of her protection detail rode up to her side. "What is it, my Lady?"

Leówyn turned her still smiling visage to him, and audibly heard his gasp. She pretended to ignore it. "How far have we gone?"

"About two leagues my Lady. I suggest we turn back at the stream up ahead."

Leówyn nodded. "Let us rest a moment in the shade by the stream. I'm sure the horses could use some water, and I admit to some saddle soreness already."

The man huffed a laugh but quickly agreed. "As you wish, my Lady."

* * *

Théodred rubbed his head, where the ache he had become accustomed to, was growing once more. A few days after the liberation of the White City from the siege of Sauron's legions, he had developed pain in his head. Most days it was only a minor irritation and easily ignored. But today, he knew something was wrong.

It was the eve of the Battle of the Black Gates. The armies of Rohan and Gondor would reach Mordor tomorrow, so tonight their encampment was awash in lights, as men sung of old battles, of lovers left behind, and partook in the solace that wine or mead could bring them. Tonight would be the last night among the living for many of them. Possibly even his last night, but he could hardly worry about himself with this pain radiating throughout his body.

Deep within his soul, he knew this pain did not belong to him. It felt wrong, almost as if it was a shadow of pain. As if he was experience phantom pain from someone he shared a bond with. Théodred knew that meant this pain belonged to Leówyn and the thought intensified his headache as if acknowledging it was a confirmation.

With a grimace he stood from his seat at the fire, and made in search of Aragorn. Eómer watched him leave with a heavy frown marring his face. He had watched his cousin struggle with pain with no source, and today has seemed particularly difficult.

Théodred found the ranger turned King by his own fire, calmly strumming a stringed lute. Many had gathered around the healer, listening to the beautiful music that sang from his fingertips. The soft melody eased some of the pain in his temples. Its chorus lifted his lagging spirits for the first time in days.

Aragorn beckoned him with a smile. "My friend, join us."

Théodred sat, his bulk making the small space look uncomfortable as he perched on a log near the Heir of the throne of Gondor. He kept his face carefully composed. But even with his calm features he knew the other man sensed something by the hawk-eyed stare. Aragorn watched him silently, continuing to play the haunting melody until it came to a soft closure. As the song ended, the men dispersed, giving the rulers the space to talk privately. The silence left behind in the wake of such music was hollow.

Aragorn spoke after a few silent moments. "It is an elvin tale of two lovers. It is meant to soothe the heart and give hope. I find it does little to help my thoughts this night but if it aids others in their struggles before battle, 'tis little hardship."

Théodred nodded. In a motion that reminded the Prince of his beloved, Aragorn cocked his head to the left. Who got that gesture from who, he wondered?

"What troubles you? And do not think me fool enough to believe it is battle on your mind, my friend."

"I fear Leówyn is in trouble, some part of me knows it. I feel powerless with her so far from me."

Aragorn watched as the man he had come to know and claim as a brother clenched his large hands, the skin turning purple under his own strength. He felt empathy for the man who had to leave behind the one he loves for the greater good. Aragorn felt that pain as well.

"How do you know it is not your idle mind playing tricks on you? I am not questioning your senses, but we are on the eve of battle. Even those of us who have seen many battles such as this must question ourselves."

The Prince nodded. "You are wise. Leówyn and I have a connection. One that even I can feel, though we are so very far apart. I can always feel her and she can always feel me. It is stronger the closer we are to one another. And now, while I can feel it, our connection causes me great pain."

The other man sat up straight, eyeing Théodred with an assessing gaze. "What kind of pain?"

"It is as if my spirit is feeling pain that is not mine. I feel it deep within me, as if something is broken. And it has caused an ache in my head for days on end, since Sauron was thwarted at Minas Tirith."

Aragorn's hand came up to scratch at his short beard, eyes staring off into the darkness beyond their fire ring. At last he spoke. "I have heard of this type of connection between Elves before but not of mortals. Even with your bride being part-elf, it does not explain your senses."

"I also found it strange at first but it has become a comfort, especially after her encounter with the Nazgúl."

"Tell me, my friend. Can you sense emotions through this bond?"

Théodred shook his head. "No. For my part. When we are close, I can get a general sense of her mood but not specific emotions. I believe Leówyn can feel more however."

The ranger nodded, "She is more in-tune with her Eldar senses than I first assumed. And how did this bond form?"

Théodred laughed lightly. "Now that is a story, my friend. The way Leówyn tells it, and I believe her for why would she lie, the Valar bestowed upon her the sense to find me. It pulled her towards where I had fallen at the Fords. Had she not found me, I would not be here now. She has been tethered to me ever since. I could not feel it until much later."

"So this bond was a gift from the Valar?"

Théodred nodded. They became silent once more, both watching the flames lick hungrily at the pine crackling in front of them. Théodred eyed the other royal, trying to gauge what was running through his strange mind.

"Answer one last question, my friend. After her battle with the Witch King – could you still sense your bond?"

Théodred frowned. He hadn't thought of that. "No, I remember being distraught because for the first time since I realized how much she meant to me, I could not feel her in my mind."

Aragorn sighed. "I fear, with what you have told me, that your fears for Leówyn might be correct. If you can indeed feel your bond once more than she is once more among the waking world. I urge you to write a missive to her or those that guard her, and come find me. Quickly, for there is not much time."

Théodred swiftly returned to his tent, and wrote a short request that provided proof that Leówyn was well. Ink dotted the surface in errant patterns for he had no time to care about neatness. Once it was sealed with his signet ring, he strode to the deep blue tents of the Gondorian camp.

Pushing aside the heavy tent flap, he entered the tent of the King to find Aragorn and Gandalf in deep discussion. Both men turned towards him.

"Prince Théodred, have you written it?" The wizard spoke, his graveled voice slow and distinct.

Théodred held out the letter, "Are we to send a rider?"

Gandalf scoffed. "That would take far too long, and from the urgency Aragorn has relayed I believe we might already be late. I will be sending a friend with this missive."

The wizard, who had seen countless lives of men, looked concerned enough that fear spiked through the Princes heart. He motioned for the two royals to follow him as he exited the tent and cut through the slowly quieting camp. Soon enough the ring of horses, tethered to trees, swam out of the inky night. A white horse, shimmering in the weak moonlight, stood free of the others.

"Shadowfax."

At his name, the Horse of All Horses whinnied in greeting to the one he allowed to ride him. "The wizard spoke again, "Will you take this to the people of Rohan? It is urgent."

Shadowfax tossed his large head, and allowed Gandalf to secure a short rope around his broad neck with the missive securely tied to it. "Swiftly to Dunharrow, my friend."

The horse departed faster than any horse Théodred had ever witnessed, one minute standing in front of them, and the next gone from the meadow as if a ghost. He closed his eyes momentarily as a spike of pain hit his temple. Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder as the three men turned back towards camp.

"Try and get some rest, Prince. We have a battle to wage tomorrow."

* * *

Leówyn heard them before all except perhaps Felaròf.

The buckskin reared and trampled one of the men emerging from the small wooded area around the stream. She heard the crunch of his bones and the piercing shriek of pain before that too was silenced with another swift hoof. Felaròf was no longer untested in battle shot waywardly through her mind as she stood and listened.

More men followed out of the wood. Too many for the one horse to protect her from and her guards, many asleep in the shade, had just begun to react. The bandits attacked from the side of the stream that was heavy forest, making noise as they tromped through the underbrush but by then her guard was surrounded.

Leówyn stood, her back protected by the warhorse, as orders were shouted and blades clashed. Her mind had a difficult time distinguishing all the sounds from who was enemy and who was friend.

It almost came as no shock when an arm wrapped around her middle and began dragging her away from the fighting. Felaròf screamed but she could hear men fighting to keep him under control. Their curses were clear as the trained warhorse fought them.

Deciding that everyone was foe until otherwise proven, Leówyn kicked and screamed, her hand fumbling for her hunting knife. She was moments from freeing it when someone else pinned her arms to her sides and a hand wrapped around her mouth. The hand smelled strongly of leather and steel and triggered her gag reflex. But it would not due to become sick before she had put up a proper fight so Leówyn swallowed it.

Leówyn bit down with all her strength and grinned when she tasted blood and heard the man shout. She knew these were not her guards for none had tried to speak with her yet.

The man that had his arms around her waist was significantly shorter than the Rohiric men she was used to, she could tell her was stock nonetheless, his large arms dwarfing her slim midsection. Short he may be but he was still stronger than her weakened body. Her elvin strength has drained away during the battle for her life, and had just begun to return with regular meals and rest. She was as weak as a mortal female and it was not enough now.

Leówyn estimated where his face would be - somewhere near her head for she could hear his heavy breathing as it whistled between gapped teeth. With a yell, she threw her head backwards with all the strength her limited motion allowed.

A satisfying crack, a deep scream, and loosening of the arms around her signaled her aim had been correct. The man roared in pain and threw her away from him. She stumbled and landed painfully on her knees. Leówyn scrambled to her feet, scrapped skin bleeding from her fall onto the rocky riverbank but she only made it a few steps before another set of arms scooped her up.

This time, the man holding her took no chances, as he lifted her off her feet and someone else threw a sack over her head. She was pushed to the ground onto bruised knees, arms twisted behind her back as the sounds of fighting died off. her heart sunk in her chest as she realized she was caught. Whoever these men were, they had come here for her, otherwise why keep her alive?

A chuckle above her head caught her attention.

"Set'le down, Princess. Ye guards are dead, so don't try an' run fer it. No one can protect ye now."

She knew that voice. Leówyn searched her memory for the name to put with the man still speaking above her but she came up blank. When she had her sight she had focused less on the other senses, using her eyes as her main focus in the world.

"Who are you?" She was proud of how controlled her voice came out, for she was shaking inside.

"Do'unt remember me, do ye? Well aye remember ye. Ye are tha one who ruined ma life. Had me stripped of ma rank, an' disgraced. Aye lost ma home and ma money, ma way of life. Ye'll pay fer it now, ya bitch."

Leówyn gasped, there was only one man that had ever done anything against her. The former Master of Ceremonies - "Aescwine."

The man cackled, and leaned close. His rancid breath could be smelt through her head covering. She held her breath. "Aye, Princess. See, aye knew ye'd remember."

"What do you want? Why are you doing this?"

"Ye mean why have aye killed all yer little guards an' tied up yer demon horse?"

He did not give her time to reply, instead launching into a tirade. Leówyn imagined she could see his face and grimaced in disgust. He was an ugly man to begin with – his teeth crooked and yellow inside a mouth that smelled of beer always, a bulbous nose permanently red from drink, and beady eyes that were too close set for his wide face. When he was angry, and his face flushed, he was positively hideous. For she had seen it.

"Ye ruined ma life. Now aye am goin' to ruin yers. Ye will never see yer precious Prince again."

Leówyn almost sobbed, her panic rising to the surface but none could tell with the sack over her face.

"Get 'er up. They will come lookin' fer her soon, an' we need to be gone."

* * *

_"Hello, meld er. Im am sorrui an ú- coming na see cin. Tis baw excuse but im gar- been flae. Dihen- nin, mui mel." - Hello, dear one. I am sorry for not coming to see you. Tis a bad excuse but I have been ill. Forgive me, my love." _

_"Cin always know ir im gar- sweets" - You always know when I have sweets_

_"__Lets glenn_, Felaròf" - Let's go, Felaròf


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

* * *

A white horse, bearing a single letter, barreled into the King's encampment at Dunharrow. Armed men scattered, as he barreled towards the large white tents bearing the King's sigil, grunting curses. The camp was wreathing, movement in every corner. It was the sight of barely controlled chaos, much like a serpent's body missing its head.

The _Mearas __dodged gracefully around tent poles, pacing restlessly as he was _unable to locate the aura of the half-elvin. Shadowfax reared and gave an almost Man-like screech. Moments later a small grizzled woman rounded a tent corner on swift legs. A key swung between her bound breasts, the strips of cloth doing little to mask her full figure. Two taller figures, younger and uncertain, followed quickly in her footsteps.

"Aye, this be the 'orse," she spoke, "tha 'orse tha wizard rode."

One of the women behind her mumbled something, gesturing to the rope hanging lightly around the Lord of All Horses neck. Shadowfax bobbed his head, pawing at the ground.

With hard eyes, the woman watched the massive stallion. As he settled, she stepped forward gingerly, her arms held skywards, "now, be calm. Aye ain't fixin' to hurt ye, nor be hurt in return."

The large horse stood, watching her approach with unreadable pools of dark amber. As she neared, the woman had to crane her neck back and stand on her toes to reach the missive. He allowed old Bertha to unstring the cord around his muscular neck and take a step back.

Bertha, her hands shaking slightly, gasped at the signet seal. "Tis from tha Prince. No doubt fer Lady Leòwyn." A heavy sigh escaped her.

Lady Leòwyn, whom she considered her charge, had been missing for half a fortnight. The members of her ragtag counsel were looking at the Mistress of Ceremonies to guide in her absence, but it was that exact absence that worried the older woman the most. All four of the Princesses guards had been found killed by the river not a few candles ride from Dunharrow. Many suspected orcs, but Bertha wasn't convinced. There had been a precise way of the killings, and what should orcs need with a hostage? No. This stank of treachery. She had not been a part of the King's household to see three generations born and not know some of treachery.

"Are ye gonna open it?" Arlene spoke over the older woman's shoulder. Her hands tangled in themselves, visualizing her nervousness. She had not stopped the annoying habit since her Mistress had disappeared.

Bertha nodded; eyes still glued to the wax stamp. "Mm, aye should."

Still she hesitated, reluctance screaming from every muscle.

* * *

Leòwyn cursed as she received another bruise from the saddle horn of her captor. He had thrown her over the front of his horse to 'keep an eye on her'. What he meant was to watch as each bump or gait change caused her pain.

'Malicious man,' she thought, her lip curling under the hood they had not removed in days. She could not see, hood or no, but sounds were also muffled under the thick black fabric.

Leòwyn had no accurate measurement of the time that had passed but they had made camp four times. So, she measured her days by breaks in riding. Each time they threw her from the horse to land on the rocky ground, she counted another day.

Her whole body had screamed at her by nightfall on the day Aescwine had killed her guards and stolen her away. It was in absolute agony now. Each breathe was a labor for her tired lungs, each muscle movement an arc of pain. When it became unbearable, she allowed herself to escape into the emptiness of her_ fea_. Where there used to be such light and brilliance but now there was dampness and shadows.

But there was no pain. Her spirit, thin as it was, acted as a barrier between her body and her mind. Saving her some sanity and little dignity. It also left her blind, more so than just her eyes, to the waking world. Candle marks could pass, days even, and she would not notice.

Leòwyn breathed deeply, through the gut punch from the saddle, and spoke, "Where are you taking me?"

"Aye, girl. Are ye goin' to ask tha every stinkin' day?" One of the guards, not her current captor, asked. The annoyance was plain in his voice. Leòwyn felt grim satisfaction turn clench her heart.

"Err, shuttit Gorgon. Don'ut talk to tha little bitch." Aescwine, from above her, growled. He followed swiftly with a slap to the back of her covered head. A ring on his hand smacked painfully against bone. Leowyn yelped pitifully. "An' yee will keep yer mouth shut. Ain't no one answerin' yer questions."

It was but a small victory. She had another name to add to the list of men in Aescwine's crew. Gorgon. Along with Chidriff, Erohan, and Clyde. Over the days of her entrapment, Leòwyn had gathered much information about her captors; from the sound of their voices to the sympathies of each.

For Chidriff, he had lost his family in a fire that consumed his farm and planting fields. He once had three daughters, one almost Leòwyn's age. His clothing shifted every time Aescwine moved to hit her as he turned to look away. As if not looking absolved him from the guilt of harming a bound woman.

Erohan was a different character completely. He told tales of his exploits with women and men. Bedding the first and killing the second. He boasted of pitched battles but cried in his sleep every night, screaming a woman's name. And he was deathly afraid of orcs. Leòwyn could smell it through the fabric of her hood when the beasts were mentioned. Fear was a pungent smell.

Then Clyde. Quiet, with extraordinarily little input, he was the one who hunted and cooked when camp was made. He favored strong spices, foreign to Rohan, but popular in the Gondorian held south. If Leòwyn were the wagering sort, she would guess his hair to be a deep brown.

The first time Aescwine had hit her, all four men had objected and Leòwyn had begun to plot. It seemed that Aescwine had been unable to find men of his caliber of cruelty and she intended to work that to her advantage.

Her plan had developed by forcing Aescwine's hand into violence. Leòwyn had known, from their first inopportune meeting in a dank tavern, that he was a gullible and dimwitted man. However, she had not counted on how painful his punches would be nor how eagerly he delivered them. She swore her heart had skipped a beat once, after a particularly aggressive knock to the gut. She allowed herself to cry out as he struck, time and again. Not so hard of a thing when her strength waned more each passing night. But when the pain receded to a dull throb and the not so quiet grumblings of the men reached her enhanced ears, Leòwyn allowed herself to smile. For even through the hood she could feel the change in his men as the days grew longer.

An abrupt stop pulled a groan out of her, the saddle digging deeply into her bruised stomach. With a cry of malice, Aescwine threw her off the horse and it morphed into cruel laughter. The part-elf had to grit her teeth against foul words that would only cause her more pain.

The sound of his laughter faded as pain consumed her. Once more, the sharpness faded into throbbing in all but one area. Her ankle, injured in the fall yesterday, now shot stabbing pain with every breath.

She heard the men wander away to tack their horses and set up camp. Hissing through her teeth, Leòwyn pushed into a sitting position and navigated her bound hands down her leg until she felt the swollen, inflamed skin. It was broken and likely would heal crooked if not set. She cursed internally. There was no way she would be able to set it and keep it straight with bound hands.

A whisper of air above her, rustling the hair on the top of her head, caused her to freeze and without thought shrink further into a ball.

"Sshh, is a'right. Aye ain't no healer but tha leg looks bad. Less takealook." The man whispered, his hand then coming to tentatively touch her ankle. Leòwyn gasped in pain. This voice belonged to Gorgon, the newly named.

Suddenly her nose was no longer covered by the smothering weight of fabric and she breathed in the scents of moss, dewy earth, and the tang of burning wood. Without thought a smile blossomed on her face, teeth shining in the darkness like small stars. Leòwyn breathed deeply once more, and felt her aches vanish for that one moment. Tears gathered in her eyes. She heard the intake of breath and turned towards the man who had paused his administrations to her injured foot.

"Ye know, he ne'er told us who we was goin' to take. Just that there was money to be had. Imm sorry it be ye." He spoke again and Leòwyn felt his eyes finally slide off her face. It was an uncomfortable awareness; it be stared at but not able to see the other persons eyes.

Leòwyn sighed. "I do not blame any of you. Aescwine is to blame. He is the cause of all this."

Gorgon grunted, then cleared his throat. "Aye he said sum real bad things bout ye, but there ain't no honor is harmin' a lass, much less a royal un."

Leòwyn smiled again but it was humorless. "I suspect he told you that I ruined his life. That I lied and the King threw him out. That I deserve this as punishment for my misdeeds."

"Sumthin' like tha," Gorgon muttered, still keeping his voice low. Leòwyn could tell his attention had shifted to focus back on camp. Anticipating the return of the disgraced Master of Ceremonies. This was the first conversation anyone had risked with her since her captivity began, so the drunk must not be around. Even a human nose could smell him long before sight.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Gorgon, yer ladyship." The man said and she felt him bob his head. His hands were steadily wrapping her ankle.

"Please, call me Leòwyn. I appreciate your aid this evening, Sir Gorgon." Leòwyn worked to smooth her voice and make it pleasant so he did not hear her hatred underneath.

It had been growing, for days, the hatred and anger in her heart. As much as she fought it, it was an inky blackness that stuck to every surface of her _fea_ and would not be dislodged. She felt the corruption, remnants of the touch of the Witch-King, growing stronger as her body blossomed new bruises each day. It fed off her anger and pain. Both physical and mental pain was sweet to these last wisps of vileness.

Leòwyn found she had little strength to fight off the evil that danced across her mind, and dare she admit that the fleeting shadows promised strength in the deep of the night and she was tempted. Strength it promised - to kill her kidnappers and reclaim her freedom. Strength to return to Bertha and the camp at Dunharrow. Strength enough to see her love one last time.

But she knew these promises came at a price. She might make it back to Dunharrow, only to kill all those she loved as the darkness tainted her heart. So, she ignored the whisperings, but only just and for how much longer she could not begin to guess. Leòwyn's own stubbornness was renowned but there comes a turning of the tide in every instance between good and evil.

Leòwyn knew. She did not know how she knew but call it a feeling. She knew the Witch King had finally been slain. The day she had awoken, she had known with certainty.

How something so ancient, with terrible power beyond her ability to reckon it, had been vanquished was only a guess. But while destroyed from this land, the last tendrils of its corruption clung to Leòwyn like a second shadow.

The man before her grumbled, his hands falling away from her person, and he quickly heaved himself up. "Ain't no sir miss. Let me carry ye to tha fire. May aye can ask Aescwine for sum more bread an' share with ya."

Leòwyn gave a small smile and nodded, "That would be lovely, thank you. But please, replace the hood. I do not wish for you to get in trouble."

The man sighed heavily and swore under his breath, lightly enough that one without her ears might not have caught it. In that moment, Leòwyn knew she had a budding ally.

* * *

The One Ring was destroyed. The Battle of Morannon, widely coming to be known as the Battle of the Black Gate, had been won. The War for Middle Earth was ended.

By the bravery of two small Hobbits.

Théodred shook his head. Not even he would have bet on such creatures, halflings, to triumph over the devilry that Sauron had commanded. Many of Dark Lord's allies were now fleeing across the Gondorian countryside to find places to hide, to fester in the forgotten holes of the world like a sickness needing to be cleansed. Men would have to search them out and destroy them, but all in good time. The spirits of the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan deserved a short respite from the horrors of death and war. The broken bodies of Men, horse, and orc alike haunted even the grisliest of warriors.

The Armies of men, those of Rohan and Gondor, had finally begun the journey back to the White City. For many days, they had camped outside the sundered gates of Mordor, nursing their wounded, and deciding the resting place for the bodies of the dead. While the widows of all of the Rohirric soldiers would never be able to bury the bodies of their loved ones themselves, the Ranger turned King thought it fitting to bury them on the hillside they had swept down – destroying the hordes of Sauron and releasing the White City from the cruel grip of doom. Once arrangements had been made, the stumbling army formed and marched back from whence they came.

The two soon to be Kings rode at the front of the column, giving strength to the weary men who followed them. In short order followed Lord Aragorn's unusual companions and Eothain, Théodred's second.

Those too wounded to walk or ride had been quartered in a healing camp, a few miles from the ruins of the Plains of Gorgoroth. They would be safer there, close to the heart of evil now deceased, than traveling with the weakened forces of men which had been subject to attacks by bands of orcs and goblins everyday since the destruction of order in Mordor.

Théodred wondered if this chaos, hordes of vile creatures scattered and terrorizing the helpless towns in their path, was the last malicious act of a being that had once held such power; the eye. Sauron, now rid of, was still affecting the world he so recently thought to dominate.

Théodred smiled in fevered victory over a most loathed foe before sobering once more. While the world had been saved, so much would soon change. He would take up his father's mantle, as King of Rohan. Théodred had been born for this day, bred for this very purpose, and yet it sat like a rock in his stomach. The loss of his father was still very near to the surface, an open wound he had not had the time to clean and dress.

Thinking about the new path his fate had taken, she could not help but cross his mind. His mood soured further, a scowl forming on his scruffy face. He had had no word from the camp of his people at Dunharrow, no word of his betrothed. He could still, vaguely, feel the pulse of life along their connection but the pain and disassociation had not ceased.

"What it is, that bothers your mind so?" The former Ranger beside him asked.

Théodred grunted, "I suspect it is the same problem that plagues you, my friend. You hide it well but I have heard you mention her."

A smile parted the lips of his friend, small but genuine. "Ah yes, a woman."

The scowl deepened, "There should be word by now, from Dunharrow."

"Perhaps there will be once we return to Minas Tirith. Do not give in to sorrow yet."

Théodred did not reply, his silence telling enough about his thoughts. Aragorn hummed, and spoke again. "Have I ever told you about she who holds my heart?"

The Rohirric Prince perked up slightly. He was soon in rapt attention as the usually stoic Dunedain spoke on his elvish bride, his smile stretching thin lips. Théodred could not help but compare the qualities his friend spoke of that sounded so familiar yet so different from his own lady love.

* * *

Leòwyn, dozing fitfully on the back of Gorgon's horse and her head lolling painfully against his back, first registered the noise of whispered voices in her blank dream state. She no longer wore that dreadful hood, its smelly fabric rubbing the tip of her nose raw. Aescwine, the cow, had even entertained Grogon's plea to carry the woman he now referred to as 'princess'. Even in the face of Aescwine's rage at the title, he had refused to use any other to name her and soon the other brigands followed suit, even to her surprise Erohan whose vile actions against women made him the hardest for Leòwyn to befriend. This left the disgraced Master with the disposition of a raging bull but none of the men seemed to care.

"Aye, we stop 'ere for tha night," Aescwine snarled, his anger rolling like waves against a shore. He had been as belligerent as a defensive pit viper. "An' tie tha bitch up. Donun't want 'er wanderin' now. 'Tis dangerous in these parts."

His ugly laugh, tinged with cruel delight, cracked through the still night. As if he found it funny that other creatures might be lurking in the dark, daring to attack his crew. He believed none to be stupid enough, but Leòwyn had heard the whispers and knew something lay out there, waiting. She could only hope that whatever it be, it was sympathetic to her plight.

She did not resist when Gorgon loosely tied her wrists to the bonds around her ankles, forcing her to sit cross legged. "Imma sorry Mistress," he spoke as he worked.

Leòwyn allowed a small gasp as he moved one of the ropes around her wrist. Each noise she made elicited a response from the men. Foul words and empty thrown liquor bottles from Aescwine should he hear it and sympathy from the others.

"I understand Gorgon. Would you possibly be able to loosen the ropes enough to allow me to push them up my forearms? I am afraid my wrists are quite raw and painful."

The man did so without hesitating, her sad yelp as he touched her red and blistered skin enough to draw curses from his lips once more. "Better, ma lady?" he asked.

Leòwyn nodded, "Thank you, my friend."

She felt the man in front of her freeze, in surprise or pleasure she was unsure of, but she knew it was good from the way he sniffed.

"Ain't never had a friend before," he said lowly and for a split moment Leòwyn felt ashamed. "But aye ain't much of a friend of yers ma lady. Aye helped nab you and killed yer guards."

"Yet you have helped me on this journey when none other have. You have made up for your past indiscretions against me Grogon," Leòwyn spoke, her voice wavering. She allowed the man to think it was with a friendly emotion however she knew differently.

Her voice wavered not from friendship but from hate. Leòwyn could practically feel it seeping out through her pores, but the poor man knew no difference. She would kill even him, given the chance, and some part of her healer's mind was horrified.

Gorgon stood, after loosening her bonds even more, and bowed to her. She knew from the creaking of his leather belt against his chainmail. "Am honored, ma lady."

She made no sound nor movement as he walked away for as he was turning a voice whispered, "Lady Leòwyn, Daughter of Lilithien and betrothed of Prince Theodred of Rohan? Lean forward if I am speaking to she."

It was too quiet for human ears to hear and Leowyn breathed a sigh of relief. The watchers were Elves. Leòwyn drifted her upper body forward, making it look natural should any around the fire be watching.

"I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I bring tidings and freedom. This shall be over quickly for this scum," the voice spoke again.

Leòwyn felt a lump in her throat catch, forcing her to cough. "Please, spare the man that I rode with, the man who tended to my bonds this eve. He has been kind, if misguided in life."

The part-elf grimaced as soon as the words left her tongue. She had contemplated killing Gorgon, like the rest, as recent as midday. How could she now feel guilty when he had not in kidnapping her? And allowing Aescwine to treat her as if she were his person punching bag?

Perhaps he reminded her of the hollowness that now controlled her _fea_. He was guideless, left adrift in a cruel world, and done no favors. Perhaps he could, given the chance, redeem himself. He was certainly no Aescwine.

Bows twanged in the darkness and screams rent the air before being quickly silenced by fleet footed elves. One sword clashed on another and a jagged roar that died in a gurgle met her ears.

"Ye pointy ear bastards," a voice slurred.

Leòwyn smirked openly at the sound of drunk Aescwine. Sober Aescwine would have no chance against an immortal warrior. A drunk one was merely a fly to swat away, a life to snub out. Not that it was much of a life but Leòwyn felt contempt and hatred flash in her aura anyway. He deserved a much worse fate but a clean death from an elvish blade would have to do. A humane way to die for such an evil man.

Leòwyn hissed as her bonds were cut, and her wrists free from the constant chafe of rope. The fresh air stung but in a pleasant way. Her eyes, kept closed out of habit for how much Aescwine would hit her for their ugliness, opened as a glowing spirit approached her.

"My Lady, I am Glorfindel. And you are gravely injured."

She frowned, "These are but blisters and scrapes, my Lord. Nothing a poultice and a good cleaning will not solve."

"That is not the injury I speak of, dear cousin. Your_ fea_ is shattered and tainted by a demon of Morgoth. You do not have much time."

Leòwyn froze and knew he had sensed it. The hate she had been feeling, trying to keep hidden, while knowing she could not defeat it. She had not the strength on her own and no Man could help her in the ways of the spirit. She did not know if even an elf could help her now. Dread crept steadily into her heart.

* * *

Sorry this took MONTHS :( I blame Covid for everything!


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